HYPOCRITICAL 
ROMANCE  AN 
OTHER  STORIE 


!BY 

ICAROUNE  T1CKNOR 


A    HYPOCRITICAL    ROMANCE 

AND    OTHER    STORIES 


"'DO    YOU    THINK    ME    SO    DKYOTRD    TO    WAGNER?'" 


A    HYPOCRITICAL 
ROMANCE 

AND   OTHER   STORIES 


BY 

CAROLINE  TICKNOR 


BOSTON 

JOSF.l'H    KNIf.HT    COMPANY 
1896 


Copyright,  iSqb 
BY  JOSEPH  KNIGHT  COMPANY 


C.  H.  Simonds  &  Co.,  Boston,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  by  Geo.  C.  Scott  *  Sons. 


TO   MY 

SEVEREST  CRITIC   AND   BEST   FRIEND 

fflg  Sister 

THIS   SMALL   VOLUME 
IS  AFFECTIONATELY   DEDICATED 


2200629 


PREFATORY    NOTE 

THE  author's  thanks  are  due  to  Messrs.  Harper  and 
Brothers,  and  to  the  publishers  of  the  Cosmopolitan  and  New 
England  Magazines  for  the  use  of  several  of  the  stories  con- 
tained in  this  volume. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I.    A  HYPOCRITICAL  ROMANCE  i 
II.     THE  FATE  OF  CLYDE  MOORFIELD,  YACHTS- 
MAN           35 

III.  THE  JUDGMENT  OF  PARIS  REVERSED     .        .  61 

IV.  A  LITTLE  STUDY  IN  COMMON  SENSE     .        .  77 
V.     MR.  HURD'S  HOLIDAY 95 

VI.  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  BONNET       .        .        .109 

VII.  MRS.  HUDSON'S  PICNIC 147 

VIII.  A  BAG  OF  POP-CORN 161 

IX.  THE  ROMANCE  OF  A  SPOON    .        .        .        .181 

X.  THE  HISTORY  OF  A  HAPPY  THOUGHT   .        .     207 

XI.  A  FURNISHED  COTTAGE  BY  THE  SEA     .        .     219 

XII.  A  HALLOWE'EN  PARTY 233 


LIST   OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

"'DO   YOU   THINK    ME   SO    DEVOTED  TO    WAGNER?'" 

Frontispiece 

"  THE   FOLLOWING  AFTERNOON   HE   WENT  SAILING 

ALONE" 47 

"  '  No  BUSINESS  TO-MORROW,  MY  DEAR  '"         .        .  95 

" '  FOR  HEAVEN'S  SAKE,  BE  YOU  AMANDA?'"  .        .  175 

VIEW  OF  BECK  HALL,  CAMBRIDGE  ....  233 


A    HYPOCRITICAL   ROMANCE 


A  HYPOCRITICAL  ROMANCE 


IT  was  rather  to  my  credit  than  otherwise,  that  I 
first  became  a  hypocrite,  since  it  was  wholly 
owing  to  my  natural  amiability  and  unselfishness 
of  disposition. 

As  I  look  back  upon  the  first  stages  of  my 
development  in  that  direction,  I  find  it  in  every 
way  a  most  commendable  deterioration  which  sprang 
from  a  kindly  desire  to  please  and  to  conciliate,  and 
not  from  a  natural  tendency  to  deceive  or  falsify. 

When  Aunt  Sophia,  whose  whole  soul  is  wrapped 
up  in  music,  came  to  visit  us,  somebody  must 
needs  sit  by  and  be  politely  appreciative  while  she 
rendered  Chopin  and  Mendelssohn,  or  interpreted 
Mozart  and  Schumann  with  that  true  enthusiasm 
which  fails  to  recognize  the  foolish  flight  of  time. 
All  the  other  members  of  our  family  openly  avowed 
their  keen  dislike  for  music,  and  quietly  but  speedily 
withdrew  to  distant  corners  of  the  house  whenever 
Aunt  Sophia  began  to  play,  leaving  me  to  suffer 
patiently,  propped  in  some  comfortless  armchair  in 
the  drawing-room,  a  most  unwilling  victim. 

"  I  presume  that  it  would  be  hard  to  find  a  more 


12  A    HYPOCRITICAL   ROMANCE. 

unmusical  household  anywhere,"  Aunt  Sophia  would 
remark,  sharply,  turning  about  to  find  that  one  by 
one  the  members  of  the  family  had  melted  from  the 
room,  during  some  favorite  sonata  which  should 
have  held  them  spellbound  in  their  respective 
places. 

"  It  is  a  sad  thing  for  any  one  to  have  no  delicate 
perception  of  what  is  most  beautiful  and  elevating," 
she  would  continue,  "  but  it  is  utterly  lamentable  for 
a  whole  family  to  be  found  wanting  in  the  highest 
attributes." 

At  this  point,  I  would  protest  that  father  had 
important  letters  to  write,  and  mother  household 
duties  which  she  must  attend  to,  while  George  was 
obliged  to  study  his  Latin. 

"  Don't  try  to  excuse  them,"  Aunt  Sophia  would 
exclaim,  "  they  have  not  an  atom  of  music  in  their 
souls,  and,  when  I  have  said  that,  I  have  exhausted 
all  that  can  be  said  in  their  defense." 

"But,  Aunt  Sophia,"  I  would  feebly  venture, 
longing  to  follow  George  up  to  the  billiard-room, 
whence  the  click  of  balls  was  wafted  to  me  during 
the  pianissimo  passages,  "  I  'm  afraid  that  I  have 
not  very  much  music  in  my  soul,  either."  To 
which  she  would  make  answer :  "  Don't  detract 
from  your  natural  gifts,  Elizabeth ;  you  are  quite 
different  from  all  the  others.  You  have  the  genuine 
musical  temperament.  I  recognized  the  fact  when 
you  were  but  a  mere  infant  in  arms ;  even  then  you 


A    HYPOCRITICAL   ROMANCE.  13 

were  appreciative,  you  cried  loudly  when  I  came 
to  a  deeply  pathetic  passage  of  Beethoven's,  you 
responded  instantly  to  the  wild  sob  in  the  notes,  so 
that  your  nurse  was  forced  to  bear  you  screaming 
from  the  room." 

After  such  a  rebuke,  I  would  sink  back  into  my 
chair  with  desperate  resignation,  and  try  to  take  cat- 
naps while  Aunt  Sophia  continued  her  interpre- 
tations, until  callers  or  luncheon  brought  me  the 
coveted  release.  Many  a  time  have  I  sat  rigidly 
against  the  stiff,  unsympathetic  sofa  cushions  in 
the  drawing-room,  sternly  philosophizing  on  the 
selfishness  of  frank  and  truthful  souls  :  apostles  of 
sincerity,  who  would  not  pretend,  though,  by  so 
doing,  they  could  mollify  all  strife  and  bring  joy 
and  good -will  to  all  mankind. 

I  was  conscious  of  being  in  perfect  sympathy  with 
every  uncomplimentary  utterance  which  father  and 
George  let  fall  regarding  the  great  composers;  in 
fact,  I  felt  I  was  probably  more  actively  antagonistic 
to  these  honorable  gentlemen  than  they  were,  for  I 
knew  enough  of  Aunt  Sophia's  idols  to  hate  them 
individually.  Father  and  George  merely  despised 
them  as  a  whole,  while  I  cherished  one  form  of  hatred 
for  Wagner,  and  another  for  old  Johann  Sebastian 
Bach  ;  my  forced  acquaintance  with  them  gave  me 
power  to  discriminate  in  my  dislikes,  and  I  found 
Mendelssohn's  "  Songs  Without  Words  "  unbearable 
in  quite  a  different  way  from  Chopin's  nocturnes. 


14  A   HYPOCRITICAL   ROMANCE. 

And  yet  I  had  often  unblushingly  assured  Aunt 
Sophia  that  certain  pieces  were  "  exquisitely  beauti- 
ful," after  having  surreptitiously  read  some  carefully 
concealed  novel  through  the  entire  performance. 
This  was  a  line  of  conduct  which,  I  must  own, 
lowered  me  in  my  own  estimation,  though  I  mentally 
commented  that  I  was  not  untruthful  in  my  state- 
ment, since,  undoubtedly,  the  pieces  were  "exqui- 
sitely beautiful  "  to  Aunt  Sophia. 

On  the  strength  of  my  musical  temperament,  I 
greatly  endeared  myself  to  her,  and  was  rewarded 
for  my  unselfishness  by  costly  rings  at  Christmas, 
or  pearl  opera-glasses  and  gold  vinaigrettes  upon 
my  birthdays,  while  the  other  members  of  the  family 
were  meted  out  the  penalty  attendant  upon  unsym- 
pathetic natures.  Aunt  Sophia  sent  them  decorative 
cards,  impossible  penwipers,  and  gilt-edged  diaries, 
or  little  painted  picture-frames,  which  would  not 
stand  upright,  and  into  which  no  pictures  could  be 
made  to  fit. 

But  Aunt  Sophia  also  favored  me  with  a  seat 
beside  her  at  the  symphony  rehearsals,  which  privi- 
lege I  could  n't  very  well  refuse,  and  this,  in  the 
eyes  of  those  at  home,  more  than  offset  innumerable 
vinaigrettes  and  rings. 

How  I  dreaded  Friday  afternoons !  And  how 
much  oftener  they  came  round  than  any  other  after- 
noons !  If  I  could  get  up  a  headache,  or  go  out  of 
town,  or  in  any  way  avoid  the  weekly  ordeal,  I  did 


A    HYPOCRITICAL   ROMANCE.  1 5 

so  with  alacrity,  although  I  never  allowed  Aunt 
Sophia  to  imagine  that  anything  short  of  grim 
necessity  could  keep  me  from  her  side. 

It  was,  of  course,  hypocritical  to  the  last  degree 
to  make  her  think  that  she  was  giving  me  so  much 
pleasure  when  I  was  counting  off  each  number  on 
the  program  with  barbaric  gratitude,  and  murmur- 
ing to  myself,  "  one  more  over ; "  but,  after  all,  if  it 
gave  her  satisfaction  to  imagine  that  because  the 
ninth  symphony  lifted  her  up  to  the  seventh  heaven 
of  bliss,  it  was  elevating  me  to  the  same  altitude, 
why  should  I  undeceive  her  ? 

I  used  to  manage  to  get  delayed,  in  one  way  or 
another,  almost  every  Friday,  so  as  to  avoid  the 
overture,  appearing  in  good  season  just  often  enough 
to  avert  suspicion.  As  it  was,  I  succeeded  in  con- 
vincing Aunt  Sophia  that  the  line  of  cars  on  which 
I  was  dependent  must  be  in  a  deplorably  misman- 
aged condition,  and,  in  spite  of  my  assurances  that  in 
a  crowded  thoroughfare  blockades  were  unavoidable, 
she  persisted  in  writing  several  scathing  protests  to 
the  evening  papers,  headed :  "  The  Grievance  of  a 
Music  Lover. "  Whenever  I  was  obliged  to  listen 
to  an  overture,  I  invariably  had  some  pressing  en- 
gagement which  would  not  permit  me  to  remain 
after  the  first  movement  of  the  symphony,  so  that,  on 
the  whole,  my  sufferings  were  considerably  abridged. 

Aunt  Sophia  was  not,  however,  contented  with 
having  me  beside  her  at  symphony  concerts  only, 


1 6  A  HYPOCRITICAL   ROMANCE. 

but  insisted  that  I  should  accompany  her  to  recitals, 
oratorios,  delightful  little  musicales,  and  many  other 
entertainments  of  like  objectionable  character. 
Thus  I  had  many  rare  chances  which  would  have 
turned  any  lover  of  music  green  with  envy,  and  of 
which  I  availed  myself  like  a  lamb  prepared  for  the 
slaughter. 

Do  not  let  me  give  the  impression  that  these  oc- 
casions were  entirely  seasons  of  unmitigated  suffer- 
ing for  me.  No,  I  was  able  to  extract  enough 
pleasure  from  them,  in  my  own  peculiar  way,  to 
make  my  musical  life  tolerable,  else  I  could  never 
have  been  such  a  successful  hypocrite. 

In  the  first  place,  I  soon  schooled  myself  to  a 
high  level  of  mental  tranquillity,  which  made  it  pos- 
sible for  me  to  close  my  ears  altogether  to  outward 
sounds;  in  this  blissful  state,  concertos  and  polo- 
naises floated  by  me,  and  I  remained  unharmed; 
I  heard  them  not. 

I  would  sit  absorbed  in  my  own  pleasant  medita- 
tions regarding  the  proper  treatment  of  an  Easter 
bonnet,  or  the  artistic  draping  of  a  party  gown,  for 
half  an  hour  at  a  time,  serenely  unconscious  of  the 
orchestra,  which  might  have  interpreted  anything 
from  Brahms  to  "  Yankee  Doodle,"  without  troub- 
ling me.  Occasionally  Aunt  Sophia  would  remark 
that  it  was  a  pleasure,  during  the  different  move- 
ments, to  watch  the  feeling  of  the  orchestra  reflected 
in  a  sensitive  face  like  mine.  At  such  times  I  could 


A    HYPOCRITICAL   ROMANCE.  I/ 

not  help  experiencing  a  pang  of  remorse,  but  I  re- 
garded it  as  only  fair  to  my  aunt  that  I  should  be 
the  one  to  suffer  for  the  deception,  so  I  endured  the 
pricks  of  conscience,  and  spared  her  the  humiliating 
truth.  I  could  not  really  blame  myself  very  much, 
on  second  thoughts,  however,  for  it  was  not  my  fault 
if  Aunt  Sophia,  with  her  great  powers  of  discrimina- 
tion, could  not  distinguish  between  the  reflection  of 
a  trio  in  B  major  and  that  of  a  new  Easter  bonnet. 

After  a  while  I  came  to  find  the  music  a  perfect 
inspiration  to  me.  If  I  had  been  worried  or  troubled 
by  some  complex  question  which  I  found  it  difficult 
to  answer,  I  had  only  to  give  myself  up  to  the  influ- 
ence of  some  stirring  symphony,  and  instantly  all 
was  well,  my  mind  would  clear  without  delay,  and 
the  vexed  questions  would  straighten  themselves  out 
at  once.  As  I  sat  calmly  by  Aunt  Sophia's  side, 
one  delightful  train  of  thought  would  follow  another, 
through  a  charmed  sequence,  which  extended  on  and 
on  until  it  reached  the  final  squeak  of  the  violins. 

I  planned  Christmas  presents  for  my  friends,  laid 
out  my  summer  wardrobe,  checked  off  my  calling 
list,  or  thoughtfully  reviewed  my  latest  favorite  book, 
or  again,  I  faithfully  recalled  the  numerous  recipes 
I  had  acquired  at  cooking  school,  and  wondered  if 
they  would  turn  out  the  same  at  home,  or  else  went 
over  my  part  in  the  theatricals  which  our  church 
was  getting  up  to  help  the  cause  of  Foreign  Mis- 
sions. 


1 8  A   HYPOCRITICAL   ROMANCE. 

From  time  to  time,  my  chain  of  thought  was 
broken  in  upon  by  long  bursts  of  applause,  in  which 
I  always  tried  to  join,  until  I  found  that  many 
choice  spirits  regarded  clapping  as  something  quite 
apart  from  a  high  order  of  appreciation  ;  this  knowl- 
edge was  a  great  relief  to  me,  and,  ever  after,  I  sim- 
ply sighed  and  looked  off  dreamily  into  space. 
This  method  gave  Aunt  Sophia  as  much  satisfaction 
as  if  I  had  rapped  crudely  on  the  floor  with  my  um- 
brella, and  was  a  great  saving  on  my  gloves. 

I  derived  a  good  deal  of  satisfaction  from  the 
regulation  house  musicales  to  which  we  went  (apart 
from  the  refreshments),  as  I  could  almost  always 
slip  away  from  my  aunt's  side  and  find  a  seat,  either 
in  a  far  distant  corner  of  the  hall,  or  on  the  stairs, 
where  I  invariably  encountered  several  kindred 
spirits,  also  bent  upon  enjoying  themselves.  Often 
we  succeeded  in  withdrawing  far  enough  up-stairs 
to  talk  straight  through,  without  disturbing  any 
one. 

At  home,  alas,  I  was  considered  thoroughly  musi- 
cal; this  being  the  only  construction  which  could 
be  put  upon  my  regular  attendance  at  symphony 
rehearsals ;  and  for  this  reason  I  was  mercilessly 
thrust  into  the  breach  whenever  any  musical  people 
came  to  the  house. 

"  Elizabeth  is  the  musical  member  of  this  family," 
mother  would  remark,  with  satisfaction,  as  she  with- 
drew, leaving  me  to  enjoy  a  new  collection  of  Ital- 


A   HYPOCRITICAL   ROMANCE.  19 

ian  songs,  which  Cousin  Louisa  had  thoughtfully 
brought  forth  from  the  depths  of  her  Saratoga 
trunk. 

Then  father,  aways  anxious  to  give  pleasure  to 
his  children,  actually  invited  to  the  house  rising 
composers  and  long-haired  students  of  harmony  with 
whom,  forsooth,  I  needs  must  struggle  through  woe- 
fully tedious  conversations  regarding  their  pet 
theme,  while  strains  of  merry  laughter  harassed  me 
from  the  frivolous  groups  about  the  room. 

Even  George,  who  should  have  understood  me 
better  than  the  rest,  brought  home  with  him  from 
college  prominent  members  of  the  glee  club,  and 
friends  who  played  the  mandolin  by  the  hour,  to 
whose  performances  the  family  listened  resignedly 
on  my  account,  when  I  should  have  so  much  pre- 
ferred to  welcome  the  most  insignificant  member  of 
the  football  team. 

Under  these  circumstances,  one  would  reasonably 
imagine  that  I  must  have  gradually  grown  veritably 
musical,  but  I  did  not.  On  the  contrary,  I  cared 
less  and  less  for  a  violin  each  time  I  heard  one 
played,  disliked  a  piano  more  and  more  daily,  felt 
my  aversion  to  a  'cello  constantly  strengthening, 
while  my  contempt  for  even  a  cabinet  organ  steadily 
increased,  —  and  so  on  through  the  whole  list  of 
these  instruments  of  torture,  not  to  mention  the 
vocalist,  toward  whom  my  attitude  was  still  less 
friendly. 


20  A   HYPOCRITICAL   ROMANCE. 

But  now  the  retribution,  which  for  the  sake  of  po- 
etic justice  (not  the  other  kind)  should  overtake  all 
hypocrites,  descended  upon  me.  When  I  realized 
what  had  happened,  I  was  for  a  time  perfectly 
aghast;  then  I  rallied,  and  made  up  my  mind  to 
face  the  inevitable  and  make  the  best  of  it. 

Oh,  ruthless  fate !  I  had  fallen  in  love  with  a 
man  after  Aunt  Sophia's  own  heart :  a  man  whose 
whole  soul  was  bound  up  in  music.  Could  anything 
more  unfortunate  have  happened  to  me,  or  anything 
more  grievously  grotesque  ? 

For  a  long  time  I  struggled  against  my  natural  in- 
clination, and  did  my  best  to  root  up  such  a  mis- 
placed fancy  from  my  heart.  I  knew  full  well  that 
I  could  never  be  happy  with  an  intensely  musical 
helpmate.  Why,  then,  should  I  doom  myself  to  life- 
long wretchedness?  I  would  not.  I  would  shun 
his  society;  I  would  not  see  him  when  he  came  to 
call.  I  gave  strict  injunctions  to  the  maid  to  this 
effect,  telling  her  that  when  he  came  she  was  to  say 
that  I  was  not  at  home. 

But  it  was  no  use,  my  admirable  resolutions  van- 
ished into  thinnest  air  the  very  first  time  I  saw  him 
coming  up  the  street,  and,  fearing  lest  my  heartless 
instructions  should  be  implicitly  carried  out,  I  ran 
down  and  let  him  in  before  he  had  a  chance  to  ring 
the  bell,  and  then  pretended  (alas,  how  easily  I  can 
pretend!)  that  I  was  just  passing  through  the  hall, 
wholly  by  accident. 


A   HYPOCRITICAL   ROMANCE.  21 

I  felt  convinced  that  I  could  never  be  happy  with 
him,  and  yet  I  seemed  to  feel  that  I  should  be 
equally  miserable  without  him ;  therefore,  since  I 
was  destined  to  be  unhappy  in  either  case,  I  con- 
cluded I  might  as  well  be  wretched  in  his  society. 
Then  I  told  the  maid  to  understand  that,  when  he 
came  to  call,  I  was  not  at  home — "to  anybody 
else." 

But  I  am  getting  along  much  too  rapidly  with 
my  narrative.  I  have  n't  mentioned  where  it  was  I 
first  met  Winthrop ;  his  name  is  Winthrop,  Winthrop 
Van  der  Water ;  such  a  nice  name ;  a  happy  combi- 
nation of  the  best  in  Boston  and  New  York. 

But  to  think  that  I  should  have  seen  him  first  at  a 
symphony  rehearsal,  leaning  against  a  radiator  near 
the  wall,  not  far  from  where  Aunt  Sophia  and  I  were 
seated.  • 

I  had  been  trying  to  make  up  my  mind,  during 
some  Russian  music,  whether  to  have  a  girls'  lunch- 
eon for  Cousin  Louisa,  or  a  card-party  in  the  even- 
ing, when  suddenly  I  became  conscious  that  some 
one  was  watching  me,  and  I  glanced  up  hurriedly 
to  meet  a  clear  and  penetrating  gaze  which  seemed 
to  read  my  very  soul  and  fathom  all  my  frivolous 
thoughts  of  card-parties  and  luncheons. 

Tall,  handsome,  interesting,  he  stood  with  his 
head  thrown  back,  drinking  in  every  note  of  that 
wild,  crashy  Russian  music,  as  though  his  life  de- 
pended upon  the  verdict  of  the  orchestra.  I  knew 


22  A   HYPOCRITICAL   ROMANCE. 

him  instantly  for  one  of  those  genuine  enthusiasts 
who  prefer  the  concerts  when  there  are  no  soloists, 
and  who  pay  a  quarter  of  a  dollar  and,  with  a 
dreamy  indifference  to  having  people  trample  on 
their  toes,  enjoy  their  music  standing  up. 

I  glanced  at  him  once  or  twice  during  the  sym- 
phony, just  to  see  if  my  theory  regarding  his  being  a 
true  devotee  was  correct,  and  sure  enough  it  was, 
for  he  stayed  to  the  very  end  of  the  final  movement. 
I  had  intended  to  leave  before  the  second  move- 
ment myself,  but  I  decided  to  stay  just  to  test  my 
own  powers  of  perception  in  regard  to  musical 
types.  , 

He  interested  me  as  a  clearly  defined  specimen, 
whom  I  could  satisfactorily  analyze.  He  had  a  pon- 
derous looking  book  under  his  arm,  which  he 
opened  from  time  to  time,  —  this  was  a  score  of  the 
music,  of  course  ;  then  he  wrote  something  down 
with  a  pencil  occasionally,  —  these  were  comments 
upon  the  rendering  of  certain  passages,  no  doubt. 
I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he  was  studying  har- 
mony, and  therefore  came  regularly  to  the  rehears- 
als, while  he  probably  played  some  instrument  with 
intelligence  and  feeling. 

The  following  Friday  brought  proof  of  the  cor- 
rectness of  my  surmises,  for  my  musical  friend  was 
there  again,  in  precisely  the  same  spot;  and  after 
that  I  used  to  see  him  there  regularly,  apparently 
wrapped  up  in  the  music,  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon 


A   HYPOCRITICAL   ROMANCE.  2$ 

the  score -book.  Quite  often,  I  thought  I  caught 
him  staring  at  Aunt  Sophia,  and  I  wondered  if  he 
recognized  a  kindred  spirit  in  her. 

I  could  not  help  wondering  if  I  could  possibly 
learn  to  enjoy  music  in  that  way,  and  I  began  to 
endeavor  conscientiously  to  enter  into  the  spirit  of 
every  piece,  but  it  was  no  use.  Perhaps  if  I  had 
begun  sooner  I  might  have  succeeded,  but  now 
it  was  too  late.  The  more  I  tried  to  be  appre- 
ciative and  sympathetic,  the  less  I  became  so, 
until  I  really  made  myself  feel  quite  depressed 
and  wretched. 

One  afternoon,  I  went  with  Aunt  Sophia  to  a 
"music  at  four,"  "  camp-stool"  affair  which  we 
reached  somewhat  later  than  my  aunt  intended  we 
should,  and  earlier  than  I  hoped  we  might,  owing 
to  a  friendly  motor  on  the  electric  car  which  refused 
to  make  the  wheels  go  round  for  nearly  half  an  hour. 
Aunt  Sophia  was  very  much  annoyed,  as  she  con- 
siders it  an  insult  to  one's  hostess  to  go  late  to 
camp-stool  entertainments ;  moreover,  she  likes  to 
have  her  choice  of  seats. 

I  don't  think  myself  that  it  makes  a  particle  of 
difference  when  one  arrives  at  a  camp-stool  recep- 
tion, for,  go  as  early  as  you  may,  they  have  always 
begun.  Some  one  is  singing,  no  matter  at  what 
time  the  drawing-room  is  reached,  and  all  the  other 
people,  who  have  apparently  been  there  for  hours, 
look  up  with  annoyance  as  you  enter  and  make  an 


24  A   HYPOCRITICAL   ROMANCE. 

unpardonable  racket  trying  to  sink  noiselessly  into 
a  vacant  chair,  toward  which  your  hostess  nods  with 
a  pained  smile. 

If,  by  chance,  you  manage  to  slip  in  during  an  in- 
termission, and  are  about  to  shake  hands,  and  let 
fall  some  cordial  utterance,  my  lady  puts  her  finger 
impressively  to  her  lips,  as  she  points  to  some  in- 
strumental celebrity  who  is  about  to  inflict  himself 
upon  the  assembled  company,  and  with  an  apolo- 
getic blush  you  subside  uncomfortably  into  the 
nearest  seat. 

On  the  afternoon  in  question,  somebody  motioned 
Aunt  Sophia  to  a  front  seat  that  was  unoccupied, 
and  I  at  once  slipped  into  the  hall,  determined  to 
steal  up-stairs  and  wait  in  the  dressing-room,  I  felt 
so  cross  and  unmusical.  My  escape  was  cut  off, 
however,  by  our  hostess,  who  touched  my  arm  : 
"There  will  be  some  more  chairs  here  in  a  mo- 
ment," she  whispered,  much  to  my  discomfiture, 
and  then  who  should  appear  but  my  symphony 
man,  laden  with  camp-stools. 

"  I  want  you  to  know  my  nephew,  Winthrop  Van 
der  Water,"  she  whispered,  and  a  moment  later  he 
had  opened  a  chair  for  me,  and  sat  down  in  another 
at  my  side. 

I  was  about  to  venture  some  remark  to  the  effect 
that  I  was  sorry  to  have  lost  so  much  of  the  music, 
when  some  one  began  a  concerto  and  robbed  the 
world  of  one  falsehood,  which,  however,  would  not 


A   HYPOCRITICAL   ROMANCE.  2$ 

have  materially  increased  the  sum  total  for  which  I 
am  responsible  already. 

We  both  listened  to  the  music  with  breathless  at- 
tention, and  said  how  beautiful  and  delightful  each 
selection  was.  I  would  have  rather  talked  all  the 
time,  but  I  pretended  I  was  enjoying  it  as  much  as 
he  was,  and,  indeed,  I  applauded  one  aria  so  warmly 
that  he  insisted  upon  clapping  until  he  brought 
about  an  encore  which  served  me  just  right. 

He  asked  if  I  was  fond  of  music,  and  I  said,  "oh, 
yes,"  and  he  remarked  that  he  already  knew  it,  he 
had  seen  me  at  so  many  concerts.  Moreover,  he 
said  that  he  could  tell  by  watching  people's  faces 
how  much  they  were  enjoying  themselves. 

I  tried  to  be  as  truthful  as  I  could,  and  replied 
that  I  nearly  always  enjoyed  myself.  To  which  he 
responded,  most  impertinently,  that  I  must  have  per- 
fect taste.  At  this  point  I  was  rather  glad  to  have  a 
man  get  up  and  start  a  recitative.  While  he  was 
singing  it,  I  determined  that  I  would  not  admit  to 
Mr.  Van  der  Water  that  I  had  ever  noticed  him  at 
the  rehearsals,  so,  at  the  end  of  the  recitative,  I 
ventured  that  I  was  surprised  to  know  he  had  ever 
seen  me  before,  and  inquired  if  he  had  attended  the 
last  three  or  four  concerts. 

Then  what  do  you  think  he  said  (after  I  had 
seen  him  there  every  time  with  that  big  book)? 
That  he  regretted  he  had  been  obliged  to  miss  the 
last  three  or  four  1 


26  A   HYPOCRITICAL   ROMANCE. 

"  Then  you  must  have  a  double,"  I  exclaimed, 
foolishly,  before  I  realized  that  he  was  only  trying 
to  trap  me  into  acknowledging  that  I  had  seen  him 
at  the  concerts,  after  all.  At  first  I  was  inclined  to 
be  provoked  with  him  for  such  deception,  but,  on 
second  thoughts,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  laugh  it  off. 
Laughing  things  off  is  even  better  policy  than 
"  honesty  "  itself,  I  find,  for,  if  a  thing  is  deeply  im- 
portant, it 's  the  surest  method  of  concealment,  and 
if  it 's  not,  why  it 's  the  best  fun. 

Later,  when  the  refreshments  were  served,  I  in- 
troduced Mr.  Van  der  Water  to  Aunt  Sophia,  and  we 
all  talked  violin  recitals,  and  sopranos,  and  quartets, 
until  it  was  time  to  go  home,  and  he  seemed  per- 
fectly absorbed  in  every  musical  topic  that  Aunt 
Sophia  dragged  into  the  conversation. 

After  that  afternoon,  we  ran  across  him  at  almost 
every  musicale  or  concert  that  we  attended,  and  he 
invariably  came  out  of  the  hall  the  same  moment 
we  did,  and  found  our  carriage  for  us.  He  was  so 
polite  and  so  musical  that  Aunt  Sophia  was  per- 
fectly charmed  with  him,  and  went  so  far  as  to  ask 
him  to  come  to  a  poky  little  song  recital  that  she  was 
to  give  in  my  honor,  as  I  was  visiting  her  for  a  few 
weeks  at  that  time. 

He  came,  and  found  it  most  delightful  (so  he  as- 
sured Aunt  Sophia),  though  I  think  that  everybody 
else  must  have  had  a  frightfully  stupid  time.  Cer- 
tainly they  all  looked  bored  to  death. 


A   HYPOCRITICAL   ROMANCE.  2? 

Mr.  Van  der  Water,  however,  must  really  have  en- 
joyed the  song  recital,  for  he  came  to  call  immedi- 
ately afterwards  to  tell  us  how  much  pleasure  we  had 
given  him,  and  from  that  time  he  dropped  in  upon 
us  very  often,  and  we  had  most  delightful  times,  ex- 
cept that  he  always  brought  the  conversation  round 
to  music  (and  when  he  did  not  introduce  it  I  felt 
obliged  to,  knowing  how  fond  he  was  of  holding 
forth  upon  the  subject),  while  Aunt  Sophia,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  never  spoke  of  anything  else. 

And  so  the  long  and  the  short  of  it  was  that  we 
talked  music,  music,  music,  and  very  little  else 
beside.  Each  time  that  he  came  to  see  us,  I  was 
dragged  in  more  deeply,  until  I  felt  that  it  would  be 
impossible  ever  to  extricate  myself  from  such  a  false 
position.  For,  had  I  not  pretended  to  share  his 
deep  and  true  enthusiasm,  and  assumed  that  I 
agreed  with  all  his  lovely  theories  regarding  the 
superiority  of  the  musical  soul  ? 

At  last  my  position  grew  simply  intolerable.  I 
could  not  go  on  forever  making  believe,  I  was  not 
hypocrite  enough  for  that,  so  I  determined  to  make 
a  clean  breast  of  everything  the  next  time  that  we 
met.  And  then  I  postponed  my  confession  until 
the  next  time  but  one,  and  so  on. 

Finally,  somebody  sent  Aunt  Sophia  three  tickets 
for  a  Wagner  concert ;  she  was,  of  course,  quite 
charmed  at  the  thought  of  hearing  nothing  but  this 
esteemed  favorite's  compositions  for  a  whole  even- 


28  A   HYPOCRITICAL   ROMANCE. 

ing,  and  in  a  moment  of  enthusiasm  she  suggested 
asking  Mr.  Van  der  Water  to  act  as  our  escort,  in 
order  that  he  might  share  the  treat  in  store  for  us. 

He  accepted,  as  I  knew  he  would  when  he  learned 
what  a  heavy  concert  it  was  to  be,  and,  when  eight 
o'clock  arrived,  we  were  all  sitting  stiffly  erect  in 
those  luxurious  seats  which  the  first  balcony  of  our 
beloved  Music  Hall  affords,  with  our  knees  uncom- 
fortably jammed  against  the  seats  in  front,  ready  to 
surrender  ourselves  to  several  hours  of  unalloyed 
enjoyment. 

There  we  sat,  filled  with  different  emotions :  Aunt 
Sophia  brimful  of  expectant  delight,  Mr.  Van  der 
Water  apparently  the  same,  while  I  remained  silent 
and  glum ;  the  time  had  come  for  me  to  pretend  no 
more. 

After  three  long  pieces,  through  which  I  looked 
as  bored  as  I  knew  how,  Aunt  Sophia  asked  me  if  I 
was  not  feeling  well.  To  which  I  replied,  wearily, 
that  I  felt  tired  and  very  hot.  Then  our  escort  sug- 
gested that,  after  the  next  number,  we  might  step 
out  into  the  hall,  where  there  was  a  greater  supply 
of  oxygen. 

At  the  end  of  the  next  piece,  I  said  that  I  should 
like  a  breath  of  air,  and  asked  Aunt  Sophia  if  she 
would  not  come,  too,  but  she  declined,  saying  that 
we  might  walk  about,  but  for  her  part  she  did  n't 
care  to  risk  losing  the  beginning  of  the  next  selec- 
tion. 


A    HYPOCRITICAL   ROMANCE.  29 

As  I  stepped  out  into  the  hallway,  I  drew  a  deep 
sigh  of  relief,  for  I  knew  that  I  was  about  to  free 
myself  of  a  great  weight,  which  had  been  slowly 
crushing  me  into  a  musical  mockery.  We  sauntered 
to  an  open  door  at  the  end  of  the  hall  and  paused, 
inhaling  the  cool  breeze. 

"  That  is  the  fire-escape  out  there,"  my  companion 
remarked,  casually. 

"  Is  it  ? "  I  responded,  absently,  peering  through 
the  doorway. 

"  Come  and  explore  it,"  he  urged,  stepping  out 
and  offering  me  his  hand.  "  It 's  a  good  plan  for  you 
to  know  where  to  go  in  case  of  fire." 

I  followed,  and  we  stood  looking  down  into  the 
darkness. 

"  There  is  no  luxury  like  pure  air,"  I  ventured, 
inhaling  a  long  breath  and  wondering  if  he  consid- 
ered it  dangerous  to  let  go  of  my  hand,  now  that  we 
were  standing  in  a  comparatively  safe  spot. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  apparently  unconscious  of  the 
fact  that  he  was  crushing  one  of  my  rings  into  my 
little  finger,  "one  does  not  like  to  be  suffocated, 
even  to  the  strains  of  Wagner." 

I  knew  that  the  fatal  moment  had  arrived.  "  Do 
you  think  me  so  devoted  to  Wagner  ?  "  I  questioned, 
faintly. 

"  Oh,  I  'm  quite  sure  of  it,"  he  replied. 

"  Then,  know  that  it  is  not  safe  to  be  sure  of  any- 
thing in  this  world,"  I  exclaimed,  drawing  away  my 


3<D  A  HYPOCRITICAL   ROMANCE. 

hand.  "Do  you  want  me  to  tell  you  the  sober, 
earnest  truth  for  once,  — I  hate  Wagner  — hate  him 
—  hate  him  !  " 

I  could  not  see  my  companion's  face  as  he  stood 
by  my  side,  but  I  could  eloquently  imagine  his 
shocked  expression. 

"  And  not  only  Wagner,  but  all  the  other  compos- 
ers," I  went  on,  chokingly  ;  "  I  hate  and  abhor  them 
all.  I  'm  not  really  musical,  not  the  least  in  the 
world,  and  I  can't  let  you  go  on  thinking  that  I 
am—" 

"  Is  this  true ;  do  you  mean  what  you  say  ? "  he 
broke  in,  excitedly. 

"  Yes,  only  too  true,"  I  went  on,  hurriedly.  "  I  'm 
a  hollow  sham,  a  false  pretender;  I  drifted  into  it 
all  by  trying  to  please  Aunt  Sophia,  and  it  was  so 
hard  to  make  up  my  mind  to  undeceive  you.  Be- 
lieve me,  Aunt  Sophia  is  the  only  one  in  sympathy 
with  your  beautiful  musical  ideas.  I  should  be  glad 
if  I  never  heard  any  more  music  —  never  —  never ! 
Now  you  may  despise  me  all  that  you  want  to,"  I 
concluded,  stepping  recklessly  backward,  and  almost 
precipitating  myself  through  an  opening  in  the  fire- 
escape. 

"  Elizabeth,  dearest  Elizabeth,"  he  cried,  catching 
hold  of  me,  "for  heaven's  sake  be  careful,  unless 
you  want  to  kill  yourself !  " 

"  You  might  despise  me  less,  then,"  I  murmured. 

"What,"  he    burst    forth,  vehemently,   "do  you 


A   HYPOCRITICAL   ROMANCE.  3! 

think  that  I  could  ever  do  anything  but  adore  you  ? 
Nothing  that  you  could  possibly  do  would  make 
any  difference  in  my  feelings  toward  you ;  moreover, 
/  am  the  one  to  be  despised.  I  am  the  real  pre- 
tender, not  you !  I  am  the  utterly  unscrupulous 
deceiver.  Your  little,  harmless  pretenses  were  but 
the  sweet  sacrificing  of  your  own  preferences  to 
another's,  but  mine  were  all  put  forth  to  gain  my 
own  selfish  ends,  to  make  you  care  for  me.  Oh, 
Elizabeth,  I  am  not  a  whit  more  musical  than  you 
are ! " 

It  was  my  turn  now  to  stand  mute  with  astonish- 
ment while  he  went  on. 

"  All  my  enthusiasm  for  music  was  just  put  on  to 
please  you.  Those  were  law  books,  and  never 
scores  of  the  symphonies,  you  saw  me  carry.  I 
would  not  go  across  the  street  for  all  the  old  com- 
posers in  the  world !  Do  you  suppose  that  I  would 
have  stood  through  all  those  tedious  concerts,  except 
to  look  at  you  ?  I  don't  care  a  straw  for  the  most 
superb  performance  —  I  only  care  for  — 

But  why  should  I  chronicle  anything  so  personal 
as  the  confession  of  the  second  hypocrite  ? 

Aunt  Sophia  was  vexed  enough  with  us  for  stay- 
ing away  so  long ;  she  said,  moreover,  that  she 
could  not  understand  how  anything  short  of  a  dead 
faint  could  have  kept  us  outside  during  the  three 
most  beautiful  selections  on  the  program.  She 
added,  severely,  that  we  had  lost  the  "  Fire  Music ;  " 


32  A   HYPOCRITICAL   ROMANCE. 

but  my  companion   whispered  that  we  had  found 
something  infinitely  better,  namely,  the  fire-escape. 

All  the  family  are  delighted  that  Winthrop  is  not 
musical,  but  Aunt  Sophia  cannot  forgive  him  as  yet. 
She  persists  in  maintaining  that  I  was  always  in- 
tensely musical  until  I  fell  in  love  with  a  hypocriti- 
cal young  man,  who  first  won  my  affections  by  his 
false  pretensions,  and  then  used  his  wickedly  ac- 
quired influence  to  destroy  that  quality  of  artistic 
appreciation  which  she  had  been  years  implanting 
in  my  soul. 


THE   FATE   OF   CLYDE   MOOR- 
FIELD,   YACHTSMAN 


THE  FATE  OF  CLYDE  MOOR- 
FIELD,  YACHTSMAN 


THERE  were  two  things,  besides  himself,  of 
which  Clyde  Moorfield  was  passionately  fond, 
and  these  were  yachting  and  young  ladies.  It  was 
a  lamentable  fact  that  his  two  preferences  were  often 
hard  to  reconcile,  because  the  young  ladies  who 
suited  his  fastidious  taste  were  apt  to  care  little  for 
his  favorite  sport ;  nevertheless,  he  generally  man- 
aged to  find  one  or  two  who  were  first-class  sailors 
and  who  interested  him  as  well,  though  the  combi- 
nation of  these  two  requirements  often  gave  him  no 
small  amount  of  trouble.  His  definition  of  happiness 
was  a  fine  sailing  breeze,  a  boat  built  after  the  most 
approved  models  (one  which  could  win  him  two  or 
three  prizes  every  year),  and  a  pretty  girl  who  could 
help  him  reef  or  be  entrusted  with  the  tiller  from 
time  to  time. 

He  had  been  disappointed  in  respect  to  this  last 
requisition  so  many  times  that  he  had  come  to  make 
it  a  point  not  to  become  interested  in  any  girl  until 
he  found  out  whether  or  not  she  was  what  he  styled 


36         CLYDE  MOOR  FIELD,    YACHTSMAN. 

"  a  true  salt."  If,  after  an  introduction,  he  received 
a  negative  reply  to  his  invariable  question,  "  Are 
you  fond  of  yachting  ?  "  he  soon  excused  himself, 
and  studiously  avoided  further  advances  in  so  un- 
profitable a  direction. 

Moorfield  had  been  studying  law  so  assiduously 
for  two  or  three  years  that  during  the  winter  seasons 
he  allowed  himself  very  little  recreation,  refusing  all 
invitations,  and  shunning  society  conscientiously. 
In  summer  time,  however,  he  tried  to  make  up  for 
all  this  self-denial,  and  he  usually  succeeded  in  hav- 
ing a  blissfully  selfish  time.  He  knew  that  he  was 
very  selfish,  but  he  gloried  in  it ;  he  revelled  in 
pleasing  himself  exclusively,  and  he  did  not  care 
whether  other  people  liked  it  or  not.  He  would 
not  play  euchre,  nor  help  the  older  ladies  out  on 
whist,  nor  make  up  a  set  of  tennis,  nor,  in  fact,  do 
anything  but  suit  Mr.  Clyde  Moorfield ;  and  he  con- 
sidered that  the  sooner  the  majority  of  bores  found 
this  out  the  better.  He  had  not  come  away  to 
spend  his  vacation  in  entertaining  people  who  did 
not  interest  him,  and  he  did  not  propose  to  do  it. 

He  was  handsome  and  lazy,  and,  in  spite  of  his 
failure  to  appreciate  them  as  he  should  have  done, 
the  girls  simply  adored  him.  Moorfield  was  a  su- 
perb waltzer ;  but  he  said  that  "  he  did  n't  care  to 
dance  in  summer,  "  and  only  strolled  into  the  danc- 
ing hall  occasionally  to  look  on,  when  he  would  sit 
and  converse  with  the  fortunate  girl  who  pleased  his 


CLYDE  MOORFIELD,    YACHTSMAN.         37 

fancy,  knowing  full  well  that  she  would  very  much 
like  to  dance,  but  never  asking  her  to  do  so,  because 
he  did  n't  care  about  it. 

He  never  took  out  parties  in  his  boat,  having  a 
perfect  horror  of  being  surrounded  by  a  lot  of  people 
who  lost  off  their  hats  and  screamed  whenever  the 
boat  went  about,  and  who  brought  lemons  out  with 
them  to  prevent  seasickness.  He  had  no  patience 
with  people  who  were  seasick ;  and  a  girl  lost  all 
charm  for  him  who  was  not  proof  against  a  ground 
swell.  He  felt  no  sympathy  for  the  poor  sufferers 
who  begged  to  be  allowed  to  lie  down  in  the  bottom 
of  the  boat ;  he  only  despised  them. 

The  fortunate  young  women  upon  whom  he 
smiled  did  not  fail  to  appreciate  the  favor,  and  an 
invitation  to  sail  with  him  was  never  refused,  —  it 
was  too  great  an  honor ;  morever,  the  lucky  recipi- 
ent of  it  always  took  care  to  be  promptly  on  hand 
at  the  appointed  hour,  for  Mr.  Clyde  Moorfield  did 
not  like  to  be  kept  waiting. 

He  had  demonstrated  this  fact  on  a  memorable 
occasion  when  one  independent  damsel  upon  whom 
he  had  showered  much  attention  had  kept  him 
striding  up  and  down  the  pier  for  a  whole  half-hour. 
When  she  finally  appeared,  she  found  him  calm  and 
affable  as  ever,  and  even  more  entertaining  and 
happy-go-lucky  than  usual,  so  that  she  experienced 
a  slight  feeling  of  disappointment,  having  hoped  to 
ruffle  him  somewhat  by  the  delay,  which  none  of 


38         CLYDE  MOORFIELD,    YACHTSMAN. 

the  other  girls  would  have  dared  to  inflict.  Never- 
theless, she  thought  she  recognized  in  this  amiability 
a  greater  depth  of  devotion  to  her  than  she  had  even 
dreamed  of.  Alas,  her  satisfaction  was  but  short- 
lived ;  for  never  again  did  Clyde  Moorfield  ask  her 
to  step  over  the  gunwale  of  his  dainty  craft.  He  was 
polite  and  even  provokingly  agreeable  whenever  they 
met,  but  that  was  all ;  he  never  joined  her  in  her 
promenade  on  the  piazza,  never  sat  beside  her  in 
the  dance  hall ;  in  fact,  he  showed  plainly  from  that 
day  that  her  society  was  no  longer  an  item  on  his 
nautical  program.  But  after  that  few  girls  ever  kept 
the  imperious  yachtsman  waiting  ;  and  if  by  chance 
anything  delayed  them  a  moment  beyond  the  ap- 
pointed time,  they  were  profuse  in  their  apologies. 

Moorfield  would  sit  lazily  on  the  wharf  by  the 
hour,  talking  to  the  sailors  and  splicing  a  bit  of 
rope,  or  fishing  for  perch,  which  he  invariably  pulled 
in  one  after  the  other  with  the  same  ease  that  char- 
acterized his  performance  of  every  other  occupation. 
Here  he  would  remain,  deaf  to  all  entreaties  to  join 
picnics  or  go  on  long  drives  to  beautiful  cascades. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Moorfield,  do  come  with  us  this  morn- 
ing !  "  a  delegation  of  timid  voices  would  venture 
some  auspicious  day,  when  there  was  a  dead  calm 
and  sailing  was  out  of  the  question,  —  but  without 
success.  He  would  thank  them  impressively  for 
their  great  kindness  in  asking  him,  and  only  regret 
that  his  sail  required  some  attention  this  morning, 


CLYDE  MOORFIELD,    YACHTSMAN.         39 

or  he  would  mention  that  he  must  run  up  to  town 
to  get  his  rudder  mended.  It  was  an  especial 
pleasure  for  him  at  times  to  stroll  up  on  to  the 
hotel  piazza  and  watch  the  picnics  start  off,  when 
he  would  seat  himself  on  the  rail  and  view  their 
departure  with  an  amused  smile,  congratulating 
himself  meanwhile  that  he  was  not  obliged  to  ride 
three  on  a  seat  for  a  dozen  miles.  He  would  watch 
the  young  ladies  come  down  one  by  one,  all  ready 
for  the  day's  outing,  and  would  thoughtfully  pick 
out  one  from  among  them,  and  say  to  her,  beseech- 
ingly, just  as  she  was  about  to  step  into  the  wagon, 
"  Oh,  Miss  Bangs,  don't  go  on  that  old  excursion, 
but  stay  and  sail  around  the  outer  light  with  me, 
instead ;  "  and,  ten  to  one,  she  would  accept  his  in- 
vitation on  the  spot,  and  desert  the  picnic  without 
further  ceremony.  It  was  no  wonder  that  Clyde 
Moorfield  came  to  fancy  that  he  was  quite  irresisti- 
ble (though  he  really  never  shaped  such  a  fancy 
into  so  many  words) ;  for  how  could  he  help  enter- 
taining a  fairly  good  opinion  of  a  young  fellow  whom 
other  people  valued  so  highly  ? 

It  happened,  at  about  four  o'clock  one  very  warm 
afternoon  (that  hour  sacred  to  after-dinner  naps), 
that  Miss  Rose  Silsbee  and  Mr.  Moorfield  strolled 
slowly  up  from  the  boat  landing  towards  the  hotel. 

Rose  was  considered  altogether  too  young  by  the 
other  girls,  being  only  sixteen,  but  she  could  handle 
a  boat  almost  as  skilfully  as  Moorfield  himself,  and 


4O         CLYDE  MOORFIELD,   YACHTSMAN. 

could  splice  a  piece  of  rope  or  box  the  compass  like 
any  old  tar ;  and  so,  in  spite  of  her  damaging  lack 
of  years,  she  might  have  been  seen  almost  daily  at 
the  helm  of  a  certain  graceful  white  craft,  while  its 
owner  sat  lazily  by,  giving  her  points  on  navigation, 
as  they  flew  across  the  harbor. 

On  this  particular  occasion,  however,  the  sail  had 
been  less  of  a  success  than  usual,  for  the  breeze  had 
wholly  died  out,  and  Moorfield  had  been  obliged  to 
pull  home,  three  miles  against  the  tide,  with  one 
great  clumsy  oar.  Even  the  most  fascinating  com- 
panionship loses  some  of  its  charm  under  these  cir- 
cumstances, and  the  two  landed,  hungry  and  cross, 
realizing  that  dinner  at  so  late  an  hour  was  an  un- 
known and  probably  unattainable  quantity,  as  the 
dining-room  doors  closed  promptly  at  three.  As 
they  reached  the  office  several  trunks  were  being 
carried  up-stairs,  followed  by  bell-boys  with  umbrel- 
las and  shawls. 

"  Ha,  some  arrivals  by  the  afternoon  coach ! " 
Moorfield  ejaculated.  "  We  're  in  luck,  for  they  will 
have  to  be  given  some  dinner;  see,  the  door  is 
ajar." 

Their  spirits  rose  instantly  at  the  prospect,  and 
Moorfield,  tossing  his  cap  on  to  the  hat -rack,  ush- 
ered Miss  Silsbee  into  the  dining-room  with  a 
flourish. 

"  Where  will  you  sit,  madam  ? "  he  said,  bowing. 

"Hush,"   she  cried,  warningly;   "don't  you  see 


CLYDE   MOORFIELD,   YACHTSMAN.         4! 

we  're  not  the  only  ones  in  the  room  ?  There  are 
two  people  over  there  who  will  take  you  for  the 
head  waiter,  in  that  blue  yachting  uniform.  Oh, 
look,  look,"  she  added,  "  I  really  believe  they  think 
you  are ! " 

"Very  well,  I'll  have  a  look  at  them,"  he  re- 
turned; and  before  she  could  stop  him  he  had 
pulled  out  her  chair  with  all  the  dignity  befitting 
the  presiding  genius  of  the  place ;  then,  with  a  mis- 
chievous glance,  he  crossed  the  dining-room,  to 
where  a  very  pretty  girl  was  unmistakably  beckon- 
ing to  him. 

Had  the  light  in  the  room  been  less  dim,  Moor- 
field's  yatching  suit  would  hardly  have  passed 
muster;  but  as  it  was,  most  of  the  shutters  had 
been  closed  for  the  purpose  of  getting  out  the  flies, 
and  in  the  semi-darkness  peculiarities  in  dress  were 
not  easily  detected. 

The  new  arrival  was  even  prettier  on  close  in- 
spection, having  fluffy  light  hair  and  soft  brown 
eyes,  and  possessing  an  air  of  distinction  which 
made  itself  felt  at  once  and  compelled  a  certain 
amount  of  homage  from  all  who  came  under  its 
sway ;  she  also  had,  in  a  large  degree,  that  indefin- 
able quality  known  as  style.  An  elderly  woman, 
whom  she  addressed  as  "  auntie,"  was  seated  beside 
her. 

"  Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  see  where  our  din- 
ner is  ? "  she  said,  as  Moorfield  approached. 


42          CLYDE  MOORFIELD,    YACHTSMAN. 

"  Yes,  we  've  been  waiting  a  long  time,"  the  aunt 
put  in,  sharply. 

"  I  am  very  sorry ;  I  will  see  that  you  are  served 
at  once,"  he  replied,  trying  to  imitate  the  respectful 
tone  of  the  head  waiter,  and  at  the  same  time  fixing 
his  gaze  upon  the  niece.  Then  he  possessed  him- 
self of  a  carafe,  and  deftly  filled  their  glasses,  quite 
as  if  he  were  in  the  habit  of  performing  this  office 
three  times  a  day.  After  this  he  walked  briskly 
across  the  room  to  where  Rose  was  smothering  her 
laughter. 

"  Oh,  how  could  you  ? "  she  cried. 

"  I  could  do  more  than  that  for  such  a  pretty  girl," 
he  responded.  "  Now  I  'm  going  to  see  if  we  can't 
have  something  ourselves.  I  'm  nearly  starved. 
Suppose  we  walk  through  into  the  little  breakfast- 
room,  so  as  not  to  spoil  the  impression  that  I  have 
made  in  my  new  capacity." 

While  the  hungry  sailors  were  regaling  themselves 
in  the  small  breakfast-room,  Miss  Lucy  Wainwright 
was  remarking  to  her  aunt,  "  What  a  very  handsome 
head  waiter  that  was  !  I  presume  he  must  be  one 
of  those  students  we  hear  so  much  about." 

"He  did  seem  quite  gentlemanly,"  her  aunt  re- 
sponded, "  but  he  was  n't  very  attentive  ;  he  did  n't 
come  back  to  see  if  we  had  everything  we  wanted." 

The  Wainwrights  had  come  down  to  be  with 
some  cousins,  who  happened  to  sit  at  the  very  next 
table  to  that  which  Mr.  Clyde  Moorfield  graced 


CLYDE  MOORFIELD,    YACHTSMAN.         43 

with  his  presence.  When,  therefore,  at  supper,  he 
strolled  unconsciously  across  the  dining-room  and 
dropped  into  his  seat,  resplendent  in  a  boiled  shirt 
and  cutaway,  Miss  Wainwright  grasped  her  cousin's 
arm. 

"  Who  is  that  ?  "  she  whispered,  excitedly. 

Her  cousin  told  her. 

"Is  n't  there  a  head  waiter  who  looks  just  like 
him  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,  indeed.  What  makes  you  ask  ? "  ques- 
tioned the  other. 

"Well,  then,  I  mistook  him  for  a  waiter,"  Miss 
Wainwright  said,  desperately,  and  therewith  pro- 
ceeded to  give  an  account  of  her  afternoon's  en- 
counter. 

"  Oh,  what  a  joke ! "  laughed  her  cousin,  "  to 
think  that  you  should  have  taken  the  elegant  Mr. 
Moorfield  for  a  waiter  !  " 

"  It  was  a  very  mean  thing  for  him  to  do,"  the 
other  said,  in  an  injured  tone,  —  "very  mean  and 
ungentlemanly,  and  I  never  want  to  see  him 
again." 

"  Oh,  but  he  is  the  great  beau  of  the  hotel ! " 

"That  makes  no  difference  to  me.  I  can't  bear 
him,  and  I  don't  care  to  meet  him ;  so  be  kind 
enough  not  to  present  him  to  me,  for  I  don't  wish 
to  be  rude,  and  if  you  do  present  him,  I  shall  be." 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  several  days  elapsed,  and 
still  Mr.  Clyde  Moorfield  had  not  met  the  lovely 


44         CLYDE  MOORFIELD,    YACHTSMAN. 

Miss  Wainwright.  This  was  not  his  fault,  for  he  had 
made  repeated  efforts  in  that  direction,  without  suc- 
cess, for  she  was  always  disappearing  whenever  he 
chanced  to  come  up,  or  always  starting  off  some- 
where each  time  that  he  joined  the  group  in  which 
she  was.  At  first,  Moorfield  thought  that  this  must 
be  accidental,  but  he  presently  perceived  that  it  was 
intentional ;  and  having  reached  this  conclusion,  he 
determined  to  be  no  longer  thwarted.  It  was  a 
novel  sensation  for  him  to  feel  that  he  was  actually 
being  avoided  —  he,  who  was  used  to  having  people 
run  after  him  on  all  occasions.  He  was  accustomed 
to  having  his  own  way,  and  that  at  once ;  so  he 
decided  upon  a  line  of  action,  and  then  took  Rose 
Silsbee  into  his  confidence,  knowing  that  she  would 
assist  him. 

On  the  following  morning,  soon  after  breakfast, 
Moorfield  walked  leisurely  across  the  piazza  and 
down  the  road,  apparently  bound  for  the  village. 
He  was  hardly  out  of  sight,  when  Miss  Silsbee,  who 
had  been  promenading  with  Miss  Wainwright,  said 
to  her : 

"You  must  run  up  for  your  hat,  and  come  for 
a  little  row  with  me." 

"  I  'm  afraid  that  you  '11  tip  me  over,"  that  young 
woman  responded. 

"  Oh,  no,  indeed  !  You  can  ask  any  of  the  boat- 
men if  I  'm  not  perfectly  reliable,"  laughed  Rose. 

"Very  well,  I  will  trust  myself  with  you  if  you 


CLYDE  MOORFIELD,    YACHTSMAN'.         45 

will  be  very  careful ;  for  I  am  frightfully  timid  on 
the  water,  and  always  expect  to  be  drowned." 

A  few  minutes  later  they  were  paddling  about  the 
bay;  and  at  the  same  time  Mr.  Clyde  Moorfield 
was  calmly  retracing  his  steps  towards  the  boat 
landing.  Rose  pulled  energetically  for  a  while  and 
then  rested  upon  her  oars. 

"  Now  I  am  going  to  show  you  all  the  points  of 
interest,"  she  said.  She  turned  around  and  began 
describing  the  scenery  and  commenting  upon  the 
picturesque  aspect  of  the  old  fort  opposite  them. 
Suddenly  Miss  Wainwright  exclaimed : 

"  Oh,  where  are  your  oars  ? " 

Sure  enough,  they  had  slipped  into  the  water, 
while  Rose  was  discoursing  upon  the  beauties  of 
the  landscape,  and  now  floated  at  some  distance 
from  the  boat. 

"  What  shall  we  do  ? "  cried  Miss  Wainwright,  in 
distress. 

"  Don't  be  frightened,"  replied  Rose,  encourag- 
ingly ;  "  nothing  dreadful  is  going  to  happen  to  us. 
Look,  there  is  a  man  on  the  wharf,  and  I  am  going 
to  beckon  to  him." 

"  Oh,  but  he  won't  understand  !  " 

"  Wait  and  see,"  Rose  returned,  confidently,  and 
she  waved  her  hand  towards  the  figure  on  the  pier. 

Just  then  Mr.  Clyde  Moorfield  might  have  been 
seen  replacing  his  marine  glass  in  his  pocket.  Then 
he  stepped  into  his  small  boat  and  pulled  rapidly 


46         CLYDE  MOORFIELD,    YACHTSMAN. 

towards  the  helpless  craft,  murmuring,  "  Rose,  thou 
shalt  have  a  ten-pound  box  of  candy  when  next  I  go 
to  town." 

"  See,  see,  the  man  is  coming,"  cried  Miss  Wain- 
wright,  joyfully.  "  How  well  he  understood  your 
signal !  I  should  never  have  known  what  you 
meant  in  the  world." 

"That's  because  you're  not  a  sailor,"  Rose 
remarked,  with  an  air  of  superiority,  which  filled 
her  companion  with  admiration. 

In  a  moment  more,  however,  Miss  Wainwright 
exclaimed,  in  a  different  tone,  "  Oh,  if  it  is  n't  that 
Mr.  Moorfield ! " 

"  Why,  so  it  is,"  Rose  exclaimed.  "  How  very 
nice  of  him!  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Moorfield," 
she  called  out.  "  Do  you  see  what  has  happened 
to  us  poor  helpless  creatures  ?  We  've  lost  both 
oars,  and  might  have  drifted  out  to  sea  if  you 
hadn't  seen  us  and  come  to  the  rescue."  This 
was  stretching  the  truth  slightly,  as  the  tide  was 
carrying  them  swiftly  ashore ;  but  Miss  Wainwright 
believed  it  implicitly,  and  shuddered  at  the  dreadful 
thought. 

"  And  you  told  me  that  you  were  perfectly  reli- 
able ! "  she  said,  reproachfully,  to  Rose. 

"Well,  I  am.  Mr.  Moorfield,  come  and  stand 
up  for  me.  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  believe  you 
have  n't  met  Miss  Wainwright.  Miss  Wainwright, 
allow  me  to  present  our  preserver,  Mr.  Moorfield." 


O    e 

II 

w    3 

r    < 


CLYDE  MOORFIELD,   YACHTSMAN.         4/ 

Moorfield  brought  his  boat  alongside,  and  Miss 
Wainwright  extended  a  grateful  hand  to  him  over 
the  gunwale. 

"  This  is  the  second  time  that  you  have  been  of 
service  to  me,  I  think,"  she  said,  smiling.  She  had 
forgiven  him  the  first  offence. 

That  evening,  Moorfield  actually  crossed  the 
dance  hall  and  invited  Miss  Wainwright  to  try 
a  waltz  with  him,  thereby  greatly  astonishing  all 
the  young  ladies  to  whom  he  had  confided  his 
intention  of  not  dancing  during  the  summer ;  they 
sat  regarding  him  with  ill-concealed  amazement,  as 
he  guided  his  fair  partner  through  one  waltz  after 
another,  apparently  enjoying  each  more  than  the 
preceding  one.  That  evening,  too,  he  asked  the 
new  arrival  if  she  wouldn't  go  sailing  with  him 
the  next  afternoon ;  but  she  thanked  him  and  said 
that  she  did  n't  enjoy  sailing  in  the  least,  and  could 
never  be  persuaded  to  trust  herself  in  any  kind  of 
a  sailboat ;  she  added,  moreover,  that  she  was  made 
seasick  by  the  slightest  motion. 

Moorfield  tried  to  convince  himself  that  the 
expression  of  such  sentiments  was  more  than  suffi- 
cient to  extinguish  what  little  interest  Miss  Wain- 
wright had  awakened  in  his  fickle  breast ;  and  the 
following  afternoon  he  went  sailing  alone,  hardening 
his  heart,  and  leaving  her  playing  tennis  with  young 
Camden  from  the  West.  Moorfield  did  not  take 
a  very  long  sail,  however,  in  spite  of  there  being 


48          CLYDE  MOOPFIELD,   YACHTSMAN. 

a  fine  breeze,  but  glided  back  and  forth  near  the 
shore,  where  he  could  hear  the  voices  and  laughter 
from  the  tennis  ground,  in  which  he  seemed  to  feel 
an  unusual  interest.  Finally,  he  moored  his  boat 
and  went  ashore,  just  in  time  to  see  the  tennis  play- 
ers disperse  and  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  Miss  Wain- 
wright  and  young  Camden  strolling  off  together 
towards  the  grove. 

Again  and  again  Moorfield  said  to  himself  that 
any  girl  who  could  not  appreciate  his  favorite  sport 
was  lacking  in  the  most  important  feminine  attribute ; 
and  day  after  day  he  sullenly  unfurled  his  sail  and 
sped  away  across  the  bay  in  solitary  enjoyment  of 
his  beloved  pastime.  But  somehow  he  failed  to 
derive  from  it  the  usual  satisfaction.  He  found 
himself  continually  wondering  what  Miss  Wain- 
wright  was  doing  on  shore ;  and  even  a  spanking 
breeze  brought  him  no  consolation. 

Then  followed  a  time  when,  day  after  day,  his 
idle  boat  might  have  been  seen  swinging  at  her 
moorings,  while  the  owner  went  on  long  and  dusty 
expeditions  for  ferns,  or  played  tennis  with  the 
young  ladies.  He  had  always  declared  that  he 
saw  no  pleasure  in  sitting  on  damp,  uncomfortable 
rocks,  and  wasting  one's  time  in  merely  looking  at 
the  water ;  but  now  he  suddenly  became  an  enthusi- 
astic devotee  to  that  harmless  recreation,  and  was 
to  be  seen  for  hours  at  a  time  contentedly  perched 
upon  some  sharply  pointed  projection,  reading 


CLYDE  MOORFIELD,   YACHTSMAN.         49 

poetry  to  Miss  Lucy  Wainwright,  who  remained 
blissfully  unconscious  of  the  fearful  and  wonderful 
transformation  that  her  presence  had  wrought  in  the 
young  yachtsman.  In  the  morning  he  would  walk 
down  to  the  pier  and  view  his  boat  sadly  from  the 
landing,  and  then  he  would  return  to  the  hotel  piazza. 
to  watch  Miss  Wainwright  work  embroidery,  or  to 
ask  her  to  take  a  walk  over  to  the  cliff  with  him. 

His  subjugation  seemed  complete  when  he  rode 
off  one  morning  to  a  clambake,  on  the  back  seat  of 
the  crowded  picnic  wagon,  in  charge  of  the  hampers 
and  luncheon  baskets,  and  sandwiched  in  between 
two  small  boys,  upon  whom  he  found  it  necessary 
to  exercise  all  his  powers  of  eloquence  in  order  to 
keep  the  contents  of  the  hampers  intact. 

Whenever  yachting  was  mentioned,  Miss  Wain- 
wright freely  expressed  her  disapproval  of  it.  She 
said  she  "  could  n't  understand  how  any  one  could 
find  enjoyment  in  a  boat  which  was  always  tipped 
way  over  on  one  side,  and  which  was  constantly 
shifting  over  to  the  other  side,  just  as  one  had  fairly 
succeeded  in  getting  used  to  the  latest  position ;  then 
the  boom  constantly  swung  back  and  forth,  endan- 
gering every  one's  life  each  time  it  passed  over  their 
heads."  She  said  that  she  "  had  noticed,  moreover, 
that  there  was  invariably  either  too  much  wind,  so 
that  the  sail  had  to  be  reefed  and  the  topsail  furi- 
ously hauled  down,  or  else  the  wind  died  out  alto- 
gether, and  left  the  pleasure  seekers  to  toil  ashore 


50         CLYDE  MOORFIELD,   YACHTSMAN. 

in  the  blazing  sun,  or  to  drift  about  in  a  fog."  She 
concluded  by  declaring  that  she  "  never  had  an  easy 
moment  when  any  one  she  cared  for  was  in  a 
sailboat." 

Moorfield,  at  such  times,  sat  gloomily  by,  refrain- 
ing from  joining  in  the  conversation.  He  admired 
Miss  Wainwright  very  much,  but  he  told  himself 
that  if  it  came  to  an  absolute  choice  between  any 
young  woman  and  his  yachting,  the  latter  must 
have  the  preference. 

The  time  was  now  rapidly  drawing  near  for  the 
great  annual  regatta,  which  was,  undoubtedly,  the 
event  of  the  season  to  all  yachtsmen.  Moorfield's 
boat  was  entered,  as  usual,  and  in  such  perfect  con- 
dition that  its  owner  felt  quite  sure  of  winning  the 
first  prize,  though  he  knew  that  the  race  would  be 
a  close  one,  as  several  very  fast  boats  were  entered 
against  him.  During  these  days  immediately  pre- 
ceding the  race,  Moorfield  seemed  to  have  returned 
to  his  old  allegiance ;  the  piazza  saw  him  but  sel- 
dom, and  the  tennis  courts  no  longer  formed  a 
background  for  his  athletic  figure,  and  the  other 
girls  whispered  that  Miss  Wainwright's  charms, 
although  great,  were  not  sufficient  to  eclipse  the 
annual  regatta.  Moorfield  still  hovered  about  her 
in  the  evening,  but  early  morning  found  him  at  the 
helm  of  his  beloved  boat,  skimming  across  the  bay 
and  experimenting  on  the  amount  of  canvas  that 
she  could  safely  carry. 


CLYDE  MOORFIELD,    YACHTSMAN.          5! 

If  Miss  Wainwright  felt  at  all  chagrined  at  the 
apparent  falling  oft  of  the  young  yachtsman's  de- 
votion, she  gave  no  sign,  but  remained  to  all  out- 
ward appearance  wholly  unconscious  of  it.  She 
seemed  to  enjoy  the  society  of  the  other  swains 
equally  well,  and  took  long  walks  with  young  Cam- 
den,  who  was  always  on  hand.  She  was,  without 
doubt,  one  of  those  calm,  happy  natures,  which 
accept  gladly  all  the  good  things  offered  to  them 
without  sighing  for  those  withheld.  She  evidently 
enjoyed  Moorfield's  society  when  he  was  with  her, 
but  was  equally  happy  and  contented  when  he  was 
elsewhere,  in  fact,  hardly  seeming  to  note  the 
difference. 

Any  one,  however,  who  had  watched  her  criti- 
cally on  one  particular  afternoon,  when  a  tremen- 
dous and  unexpected  squall  suddenly  sprang  up, 
might  have  discerned  an  unusual  amount  of  excite- 
ment visible  upon  her  expressive  features.  The 
peaceful  bay  was  filled  with  angry  whitecaps,  and 
the  small  boats  came  scudding  home  like  mad. 
The  guests  at  the  hotel,  grouped  about  the  piazza, 
eagerly  watched  the  few  boats  that  were  still  outside 
in  the  gale. 

"  I  suppose  that  Moorfield  is  somewhere  out 
there,"  somebody  remarked,  casually,  and  somebody 
else  replied,  "  There  's  no  need  to  worry  about  him, 
he  has  more  lives  than  a  cat." 

Miss  Wainwright  did  not  speak  to  any  one,  but 


52          CLYDE   MOORFIELD,    YACHTSMAN. 

stood  looking  out  from  the  end  of  the  piazza,  with 
tightly  compressed  lips,  and  with  her  eyes  fixed 
upon  a  tiny  speck  far  out  across  the  harbor.  It 
was  just  supper-time,  and  the  others  all  gradually 
drifted  into  the  dining-room  without  noticing  that 
one  lonely  figure  still  remained  motionless  in  a  dis- 
tant corner,  disregarding  the  fury  of  the  gale,  which 
blew  her  hair  wildly  about,  and  only  deserting  her 
post  when  the  yachtsman's  pretty  white  boat  swung 
securely  at  its  moorings. 

That  evening  she  seemed  to  be  in  unusually  high 
spirits,  and  when  she  met  Moorfield  after  supper, 
she  greeted  him  with  a  gay  unconcern  which  con- 
vinced him  that  she  had  been  very  little  troubled  by 
his  exposure  to  the  terrific  squall.  He  resented 
her  calm  indifference,  which  contrasted  strongly 
with  the  interest  shown  by  the  others,  who  crowded 
round  to  hear  his  description  of  his  afternoon's 
experience,  and  he  made  an  effort  to  enlarge  upon 
his  imminent  peril,  telling  graphically  how  he  had 
narrowly  escaped  being  capsized,  in  order  to  draw 
forth  some  expression  of  feeling  from  her.  His 
words,  however,  apparently  failed  to  produce  the 
desired  effect,  as  she  only  remarked  lightly  that  she 
"  supposed  that  sort  of  thing  was  what  a  yachtsman 
enjoyed."  He  remembered  that  she  had  said  that 
it  worried  her  dreadfully  to  have  any  one  that  she 
cared  for  out  on  the  water,  and  he  meditated  grimly 
that  her  attitude  towards  him  had  been  clearly 


CLYDE  MOORFIELD,    YACHTSMAN.         53 

demonstrated.  He  persuaded  himself  that  he  re- 
gretted his  devotion  to  so  heartless  and  unfeeling  a 
young  woman,  and  decided  that  he  had  been  rightly 
served  for  allowing  himself  to  admire  any  one  whose 
tastes  were  so  little  in  sympathy  with  his  own. 

Moorfield  pictured  to  himself  at  intervals  during 
the  next  few  days  the  probable  result  of  an  engage- 
ment between  them  (a  picture  which  gave  him 
more  satisfaction  than  he  wished  to  acknowledge), 
and  he  forced  himself  to  conclude  that  they  could 
never  be  happy  together.  Her  first  request  would 
be  for  him  to  give  up  yachting,  he  felt  sure  of  that. 
Yes,  she  would  probably  ask  him  to  sell  his  boat  at 
once.  That  was  something  that  he  could  not  do  ; 
he  would  never  relinquish  yachting, —  no,  not  for 
any  woman ;  so  it  was  just  as  well  that  she  cared 
nothing  about  him.  Moorfield  felt  sure  that  this 
was  absolutely  so,  as  he  dwelt  upon  her  indifference 
on  the  day  of  the  squall. 

The  days  sped  quickly  by,  until  only  one  day 
remained  before  the  long-talked-of  race,  and  Moor- 
field, in  consequence,  remained  on  shore  just  long 
enough  to  swallow  the  amount  of  food  necessary  to 
sustain  life,  and  actually  failed  to  exchange  a  word 
with  Miss  Wainwright  for  over  twenty-four  hours. 

The  next  morning  dawned, —  the  perfection  of  a 
yachtsman's  day.  The  sky  was  dotted  with  a  few 
fleecy  clouds,  and  a  fine  stiff  breeze  ruffled  the  sur- 
face of  the  water.  Moorfield  came  down  to  break- 


54         CLYDE  MOORFIELD,   YACHTSMAN. 

fast  in  the  highest  of  spirits,  brimming  over  with  that 
sense  of  good-will  towards  all  the  world  which  is 
apt  to  accompany  the  gratification  of  one's  own 
desires.  He  saw,  in  his  mind's  eye,  his  boat  flying 
through  the  water  and  rapidly  increasing  the  dis- 
tance between  her  and  the  boats  following.  As  he 
passed  through  the  office,  Miss  Wainwright  was 
standing  at  the  desk,  and  he  fancied  she  smiled 
less  brightly  than  usual,  in  return  to  his  cheery 
good-morning. 

"  I  'm  glad  that  you  have  so  fine  a  day  for  your 
race,  Mr.  Moorfield,"  she  said,  in  rather  a  subdued 
tone.  "  When  do  you  start  ? "  she  added. 

"  At  eleven,"  he  rejoined,  pulling  out  his  watch. 
"  I  suppose  that  you  will  come  down  to  the  landing 
to  wish  me  good  luck? " 

"  I  should  like  to,  but  I  'm  afraid  I  can't." 

Something  in  her  tone  attracted  his  attention, 
and  he  inquired,  anxiously,  "  Is  anything  the  matter, 
Miss  Wainwright  ? " 

In  response,  she  pointed  to  a  dispatch  which  she 
held  in  her  hand. 

"  My  father  is  ill,  and  they  have  telegraphed  for 
me  to  come  home,"  she  said,  simply,  "so  I  shall 
take  the  twelve  o'clock  train." 

Moorfield's  high  spirits  suddenly  evaporated. 

"I'm  dreadfully  sorry,"  he  exclaimed,  looking 
greatly  distressed.  "  Is  n't  there  something  I  can 
do  for  you  ? " 


CLYDE  MOORFIELD,   YACHTSMAN.          55 

"  Thank  you  very  much,  but  I  can't  think  of  any- 
thing, unless  you  want  to  order  a  buckboard  to 
take  me  over  to  the  station.  I  was  just  going  to 
see  about  one.  I  presume  I  ought  to  start  soon 
after  eleven,  as  it  is  a  four-mile  drive." 

"  Yes,  you  certainly  should  start  as  soon  as  that," 
he  replied,  thoughtfully.  Then  he  added,  "  But  I 
don't  see  what  I  am  to  do  without  you.  I  shall  be 
the  picture  of  despair,  I  assure  you." 

"Ah,  but  you  will  have  your  boat  for  consola- 
tion," she  returned,  endeavoring  to  speak  lightly. 

"  Yes,  truly,  I  had  forgotten  that,"  he  said,  imi- 
tating her  careless  tone.  "  I  see  you  appreciate  the 
extent  of  my  requirements." 

"  I  shall  have  to  go  and  finish  my  packing  now," 
she  exclaimed,  hurriedly,  "  so  perhaps  I  had  better 
say  good-by  at  once,  since  you  will  be  off  before  I 
start." 

She  extended  her  hand  to  Moorfield,  who  grasped 
it  warmly,  and  appeared  quite  unwilling  to  let  it  go 
again. 

"  I  hope  we  shall  meet  again,"  she  said,  faintly. 
"  The  acquaintance  has  been  a  very  pleasant  one 
to  me." 

"I  am  just  beginning  to  realize  how  pleasant  it 
has  been  to  me,  now  that  you  are  going  away,"  he 
said,  soberly,  while  he  looked  steadily  into  her  eyes, 
which  dropped  before  his  gaze  ;  "  and  now  that  I 
know,  you  may  be  sure  that  we  shall  meet  again, 


56         CLYDE  MOORFIELD,   YACHTSMAN. 

and  it  will  be  very  soon,  he  added,  with  decision. 
"Good-by,  I  will  go  and  see  about  your  buckboard 
at  once." 

She  watched  him  disappear,  and  then  slowly  went 
up-stairs,  with  a  mist  gathering  before  her  eyes. 
When  she  reached  her  room  she  looked  out  of  the 
window  and  caught  sight  of  Moorfield  wending  his 
way  towards  the  boat  landing. 

"  He  is  sorry  to  have  me  go,"  she  said  to  herself, 
"  but  he  still  has  his  yacht  race." 

At  eleven  o'clock,  promptly,  something  resembling 
a  swarm  of  big  white  butterflies  skimmed  across  the 
water.  The  bre"eze  filled  the  snowy  sails  and  the 
foam  flew  merrily,  as  the  many  boats  scudded  swiftly 
before  the  wind,  and  the  practised  eyes  of  the  yachts- 
men sparkled  with  pleasure  as  they  steered  towards 
the  distant  bell-buoy. 

Miss  Wainwright,  arrayed  in  a  dark  travelling 
suit,  stood,  bag  in  hand,  waiting  for  the  buckboard 
to  appear. 

"  I  hope  that  Mr.  Moorfield  did  not  forget  to  give 
the  order,"  she  remarked  to  her  aunt,  who  was  wait- 
ing to  see  her  depart. 

After  bidding  her  aunt  good-by,  she  glanced  over 
her  shoulder  at  the  fleet  of  white  sails,  and  at  the 
pier  crowded  with  gay  spectators,  and  alive  with 
flags  and  fluttering  streamers  which  waved  in  the 
breeze;  then  she  turned  with  a  sigh  towards  the 
buckboard  which  had  just  driven  up  to  the  door. 


CLYDE  MOORFIELD,    YACHTSMAN.          5/ 

As  the  driver  jumped  out  and  extended  his  hand  to 
assist  her,  a  sudden  wave  of  color  mounted  to  her 
cheeks. 

"Why,  Mr.  Moorfield,  is  that  you?  How  very 
kind  !  But  I  thought  —  " 

She  faltered,  looking  over  her  shoulder  towards 
the  flying  sails.  He  made  no  reply,  but  helped  her 
into  the  buckboard  and  sprang  in  after  her. 

"  And  you  gave  up  the  race,"  she  murmured,  re- 
proachfully, "  just  to  drive  me  over  to  the  station  ? 
Oh,  Mr.  Moorfield  !  " 

He  laughed  derisively. 

"The  race!  Is  there  a  race  ?  I  had  quite  for- 
gotten it."  Then  he  continued  more  gently,  "  Do 
you  suppose  that  all  the  yacht  races  in  the  world 
are  anything  to  me,  when  you  are  going  away  ? " 

Before  they  reached  the  station,  Moorfield  had 
learned  with  much  satisfaction  that,  far  from  being 
indifferent  on  the  afternoon  of  the  squall,  Miss 
Wainwright  had  suffered  untold  agony  until  she  saw 
him  once  more  safely  on  shore.  As  the  train  came 
into  sight,  she  murmured : 

"Oh,  there  is  one  thing  which  I  want  you  to 
promise  me,  Clyde,  dear." 

"  Anything  in  my  power,  dearest,"  he  replied, 
feeling  that  to  give  up  yachting  forever  would  be  a 
joy  rather  than  otherwise. 

"  It  is  this,"  she  went  on,  hurriedly  ;  "  I  know  that 
I  am  often  very  selfish,  though  I  don't  mean  to  be ; 


58         CLYDE  MOORFIELD,    YACHTSMAN. 

and  so  I  am  going  to  get  you  to  help  me  to  try  not 
to  be  so  any  longer.  You  shall  begin  by  promising 
not  to  give  up  your  yachting  on  my  account.  I 
want  you  to  enjoy  it  just  as  much  as  if  I  could  go 
with  you.  You  will  promise,  won't  you  ?  "  and  she 
stepped  on  board  the  train. 

"  I  will  do  anything  to  please  you,  my  love,"  he 
answered,  standing  wrapped  in  admiration  of  this 
final  revelation  of  her  unselfishness  until  the  train 
had  steamed  far  out  of  sight. 

Yet  in  spite  of  this  promise,  Clyde  Moorfield 
ceased  to  be  a  yachtsman  from  that  moment.  His 
interest  in  his  old  pastime  seemed  to  have  suddenly 
departed ;  and  at  the  end  of  a  month  he  had  sold  his 
boat  to  a  friend,  who  had  several  times  offered  to 
take  it  off  from  his  hands  in  case  he  ever  wished  to 
dispose  of  it. 

The  other  fellows  said  that  Clyde  was  "  very 
much  engaged  now,"  but  declared  that  he  "  would 
get  over  it  in  time ; "  they  gave  him  six  months. 
At  last  accounts,  however,  two  years  had  elapsed, 
and  he  had  failed  to  fulfil  their  predictions. 

Mrs.  Clyde  Moorfield  often  asks  him  why  he 
does  n't  go  off  on  a  nice  long  cruise,  though  I  sus- 
pect she  is  none  too  anxious  to  have  him  do  it ;  but 
he  always  replies  that  somehow  or  other  he  has  lost 
his  interest  in  yachting,  and,  what  is  more,  he  cannot 
understand  how  he  ever  could  have  cared  so  much 
about  it. 


THE   JUDGMENT   OF   PARIS 
REVERSED 


THE   JUDGMENT   OF    PARIS 
REVERSED 


I  LITTLE  thought  that  I  should  ever  be  called 
upon  to  fill  the  rbk  of  the  world-famous  Trojan, 
especially  as  I  had  always  bemoaned  the  fact  that  I 
was  not  blessed  with  my  full  share  of  the  good  looks 
with  which  my  enemy  Paris  was  so  plentifully  en- 
dowed. I  say  enemy  advisedly,  for  I  disliked  him 
from  the  first,  and  have  always  cherished  a  whole- 
some disdain  for  him,  while  I  regarded  his  willingness 
to  give  up  both  wisdom  and  riches,  merely  for  the 
sake  of  a  good-looking  woman,  as  the  very  height  of 
imbecility,  which  could  not  have  failed  to  bring  upon 
him  condign  punishment. 

Being  an  old  bachelor  myself,  and  blessed  with 
what  I  considered  a  fair  amount  of  common  sense, 
I  felicitated  myself  that  so  far  I  had  not  fallen  a 
victim  to  the  charms  of  any  member  of  the  fair  sex. 
Possibly  this  may  have  been  due  to  the  fact  that  I 
had  always  avoided  the  danger,  and  had  let  the  fair 
ones  severely  alone.  My  friends  often  tried  to  in- 
veigle me  into  society,  but  I  would  not  be  tempted. 

61 


62    THE  JUDGMENT  OF  PARIS  REVERSED. 

I  was  contented,  and  determined  to  let  well  enough 
alone.  I  would  not  court  unhappiness,  nor  would  I 
call  upon  anybody's  pretty  sisters — no,  not  I. 

On  a  certain  winter's  evening,  a  little  over  a  year 
ago,  I  had  been  enjoying  a  very  cozy  dinner  with 
my  three  friends,  Weston,  Hollingsford,  and  Mitchell, 
charming  fellows,  who,  though  somewhat  younger 
than  I,  yet  always  showed  a  willingness  to  dine  chez 
mot,  which  was  not  tempered  by  any  discrepancy  in 
years.  On  this  particular  evening  dinner  was  over, 
and  Mitchell  was  just  dropping  a  second  lump  of 
sugar  into  his  cup  of  black  coffee,  when  the  conver- 
sation drifted  in  the  direction  of  the  German  opera. 

"  Madame  Flambeau  is,  without  doubt,  as  ugly  a 
woman  as  ever  existed,"  I  incidentally  remarked. 

"  Oh,  no,"  broke  in  Weston ;  "  indeed  she  is  not. 
I  have  a  cousin,  by  whose  side  she  would  be  con- 
sidered a  perfect  beauty." 

I  hastened  to  declare  that  I  did  not  believe  it 
possible,  when  Hollingsford  asserted  that  he  had  a 
cousin  whom  he  would  match  against  any  homely 
woman  that  Weston  could  produce. 

"  I  don't  believe  that  your  cousin  is  a  circum- 
stance to  mine,"  he  continued,  enthusiastically. 
"  She  would  take  a  prize  in  any  exhibition,  and  cre- 
ate a  sensation  that  would  fill  the  heart  of  the  ten- 
thousand-dollar  beauty  with  despair.  I  have  no 
hesitation  in  saying  that  she  is  the  plainest  woman 
in  the  whole  world." 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF  PARIS  REVERSED.    63 

"  Look  here,"  interrupted  Mitchell,  who  had,  up 
to  this  point,  seemed  quite  absorbed  in  studying  the 
weather  indications  presented  by  the  bubbles  float- 
ing across  the  surface  of  his  coffee ;  "  /  have  a 
cousin,  too,  whom  I  'm  ready  to  put  up  against  any 
two  women  that  you  can  produce,  and  I  will  wager 
any  amount  that  she  will  knock  Hollingsford's 
cousin  into  the  middle  of  next  week." 

"  Impossible,"  responded  that  worthy  gentleman ; 
"  I  '11  never  yield  the  prize  to  any  one  but  Maria 
Agnes  Palmer,  only  daughter  of  my  beloved  Aunt 
Mary,  who  always  used  to  urge  my  mother  to  let  me 
spend  my  vacations  with  her,  in  order  that  she 
might  make  my  life  miserable,  until  I  came  to  re- 
gard the  opening  of  school  as  a  happy  release.  She 
belonged  to  Macaulay's  class  of  old  Puritans,  who 
looked  upon  bear-baiting  as  a  sin,  not  because  it 
gave  pain  to  the  bear,  but  because  it  gave  pleasure 
to  the  spectators,  and  Maria  Agnes  is  just  like  her 
mother,  so  every  one  tells  me,  both  in  looks  and  dis- 
position." 

"  I  say,  Weston,"  exclaimed  Mitchell,  "  what  fun 
it  would  be  to  bring  them  all  together,  and  let 
Lloyd,  here,  decide  who  is  the  ugliest ;  then  we  will 
abide  by  his  decision,  as  he  is,  of  course,  the  only 
disinterested  one.  How  could  I,  for  instance,  ever 
regard  my  Cousin  Kate  Mitchell  with  an  impartial 
eye,  when  I  remember  how  she  comes  to  see  my 
sisters  just  so  often,  for  the  sole  purpose  of  telling 


64    THE  JUDGMENT  OF  PARIS  REVERSED. 

how  injurious  cigarettes  are,  how  very  extravagant 
I  am  considered,  and  what  expensive  roses  she 
heard  that  I  sent  to  Miss  Wellington  on  the  night 
of  her  reception,  which  I  attended,  after  having  re- 
gretted that  business  duties  would  prevent  my 
coming  to  her  (Kate's)  musicale  that  same  evening 
—  as  though  I  could  be  in  two  places  at  once  ? " 

"  Capital !  "  cried  Weston.  "  We  will  invite  them 
all  to  dinner,  and  Lloyd  shall  sit  in  judgment,  and 
the  cousins  of  the  defeated  candidates  shall  pay  for 
the  dinner.  What  do  you  say,  Lloyd  ?  Will  you 
refuse  to  face  such  a  galaxy  of  beauty  ? " 

I  replied  that,  under  the  circumstances,  I  would 
come  to  the  dinner  with  pleasure,  though  they  knew 
that  it  was  against  my  principles  to  mingle  in  femi- 
nine society  at  all,  but  I  begged  that  I  might  not  be 
forced  to  decide  so  weighty  a  question.  I  was,  how- 
ever, overruled,  and  before  I  knew  it  had  consented 
to  shoulder  the  responsibility  of  selecting  the  least 
attractive  cousin,  and  had,  moreover,  said  that  I 
should  be  most  happy  to  take  the  whole  party  to 
the  theatre  in  the  evening. 

We  finally  came  to  the  conclusion  that  during  the 
dinner  I  should  have  ample  time  to  decide  which 
cousin  carried  off  the  palm  of  ugliness,  and  to  her, 
when  dessert  came  on,  I  should  present  a  bonbon- 
niere,  which,  in  form  of  a  gilded  apple,  should 
surmount  the  tray  of  bonbons. 

"And   thus  shall   the  judgment  of   Paris  be  re- 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF  PARIS  REVERSED.   65 

versed,"  gayly  exclaimed  Mitchell,  as  he  conde- 
scendingly pocketed  a  couple  of  my  best  cigars 
before  bidding  me  good-night.  "Only  remember 
that  you  must  escort  the  heroine  of  the  golden  apple 
to  the  theatre  yourself,  after  having  shown  her  such 
marked  consideration.  Ha !  ha !  ha  ! "  he  added. 
"  To  think  of  Lloyd  really  accompanying  ladies  to 
the  theatre  of  his  own  free  will !  We  must  keep  a 
sharp  lookout  for  the  cousins,  fellows,  if  we  are 
going  to  expose  them  to  the  battery  of  his  fascina- 
tions. Poor  things  !  I  hope  their  heads  will  not  be 
completely  turned." 

I  joined  the  laugh  with  the  others,  but  after  they 
had  gone  I  sat  down  by  the  fire  and  thought  what 
an  idiot  I  had  been  to  allow  myself  to  be  drawn 
into  such  juvenile  nonsense.  Was  this  all  that  my 
consistency  amounted  to  ?  Ought  my  good  resolu- 
tions, long  preserved  unbroken,  to  be  thus  lightly  set 
aside  for  anybody's  cousins  ?  Should  they  prove 
ever  so  repulsive  and  disagreeable,  they  nevertheless 
wore  petticoats  and  belonged  to  that  class  of  cold 
and  heartless  schemers  whose  society  I  had  for- 
sworn since  the  day,  long  years  since,  when  my  best 
friend,  Richard  Jackson,  had  died  of  a  broken  heart, 
and  I  had  determined  thenceforward  to  have  noth- 
ing more  to  do  with  the  treacherous  sex.  After 
all,  it  made  very  little  difference  to  me.  Cousins 
might  come  and  go  without  affecting  me  in  the 
least.  I  had  long  ago  become  invulnerable,  and 


66    THE  JUDGMENT  OF  PARIS  REVERSED. 

had  learned  coldly  to  pass  the  schemers  by  on  the 
other  side. 

In  less  than  three  weeks  from  this  time  the  night 
for  the  eventful  dinner  arrived.  It  was  to  take 
place  in  my  apartments,  as  I  had  heard  that  my  sis- 
ter, Mrs.  Winchester,  was  to  be  in  town,  and  — 
happy  thought !  —  knowing  that  she  would  expect 
to  dine  with  me,  I  arranged  to  have  her  come  and 
help  me  to  receive  the  cousins,  for  whose  arrival  I 
now  waited  with  much  greater  interest  than  I  would 
have  willingly  acknowledged  to  any  one  could  be 
aroused  within  me  merely  by  the  arrival  of  three 
very  ugly  women.  It  was  probably  the  fact  of  their 
unusual  ugliness  that  interested  me  so  much,  and  I 
had  several  times  caught  myself  speculating  upon 
the  probable  immensity  of  Miss  Mitchell's  mouth 
and  the  possible  magnitude  of  Miss  Palmer's  nose. 
I  had  even  calculated  in  a  scientific  way  the  relative 
importance  of  these  two  given  features.  Admitted 
that  each  was  just  as  ugly  as  it  could  be,  which  was 
the  more  important,  a  nose  or  a  mouth  ?  Both  were 
quite  necessary,  but  there  had  been  times  when  I 
had  felt  that  I  could  dispense  with  my  nose ;  but 
my  mouth  —  never.  I  was  determined  to  be  most 
conscientious  in  my  decision. 

This  was  the  first  time  that  I  had  invited  any 
ladies  to  dine  with  me,  save  an  occasional  distant 
relative  from  the  country,  and  my  sister,  who  always 
condescended  to  spend  a  long  and  unhappy  evening 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF  PARIS  REVERSED.    6? 

with  me  once  a  year.  How  much  good  advice  she 
could  get  into  one  evening,  and  what  unalterable 
opinions  she  had  on  every  subject,  from  politics  to 
laundry  bills !  No  one  else  could  be  held  respon- 
sible for  her  opinions ;  she  entered  the  world  fully 
armed  and  equipped  with  them.  It  was  bad  enough 
for  women  to  have  opinions  at  all,  and  even  when 
they  had  the  sense  to  get  them  from  some  reason- 
able man,  they  always  lost  sight  of  the  essential 
points,  and  permitted  every  little  personal  prejudice 
full  sway  in  the  end. 

I  could  not  but  feel,  however,  a  slight  flutter  of 
excitement  at  the  thought  of  receiving  three  of  the 
much-avoided  sex  at  once,  besides  my  sister.  I 
vaguely  wondered  if  the  man  had  dusted  the  rooms. 
I  knew  that  women  objected  very  much  to  dust. 
Whenever  I  heard  it  said  that  any  woman  was  "  a 
model  housekeeper  "  a  vision  arose  before  me  of  some 
one  wearing  a  white  apron,  who  appears  flourishing 
in  one  hand  a  dusting  cloth  and  in  the  other  a 
feather  duster ;  who  invades  the  peaceful  study  or 
the  tranquil  sitting-room,  and  with  her  weapons  of 
warfare  begins  her  work  of  devastation.  She  fills 
the  air  with  minute  particles,  and  the  dust  rises  at 
her  approach ;  she  moves  all  the  papers,  and  alters 
the  positions  of  the  pipes  and  match-boxes ;  then 
she  takes  down  all  the  books,  and  rubs  the  dust  into 
the  edges  with  the  cloth  before  putting  them  all 
back  in  the  wrong  places.  I  went  over  to  the  man- 


68    THE  JUDGMENT  OF  PARIS  REVERSED. 

tel  and  blew  violently  to  see  if  it  was  dusty ;  evi- 
dently it  was,  for  I  sneezed.  How  stupid  of  James  ! 
I  took  out  my  silk  handkerchief  and  switched  it 
nervously  up  and  down  the  mantel-shelf  until  I  suc- 
ceeded in  knocking  off  my  best  pipe  —  just  nicely 
colored,  too.  Women  were  a  perfect  nuisance  any- 
how, and  had  always  made  trouble  for  every  one 
since  the  advent  of  Eve.  Nevertheless,  I  could  not 
control  a  desire  to  glance  in  the  mirror  each  time 
that  I  went  by  it  —  an  offence  of  which  I  am  sel- 
dom guilty  —  and  as  I  straightened  my  tie  for  the 
sixth  time  I  was  dimly  conscious  of  a  faint  satisfac- 
tion at  the  thought  of  perhaps  making  somewhat  of 
an  impression  in  my  role  of  genial  host  upon  an  in- 
voice of  femininity  which  had  not  been  spoiled  by 
too  much  flattery  and  adoration.  I  was  only  forty, 
after  all,  and  if  not  handsome,  my  hair  had  not  yet 
begun  to  grow  thin  on  top,  and  my  teeth  were  really 
remarkably  fine ;  the  genial  smiling  host  was  cer- 
tainly quite  my  style.  I  knew  these  thoughts  to  be 
unworthy  of  me  as  a  scholar  and  scientist,  but  we 
are  all  unworthy  of  ourselves  now  and  then. 

Steps  in  the  hall  caused  me  to  take  up  a  paper 
and  assume  a  careless  position  in  my  easy-chair  by 
the  fire.  My  sister  had  arrived  and  also  Mitchell, 
by  whose  side  appeared  the  first  of  the  cousins. 
I  rose  hastily  and  met  them  with  great  cordiality. 
"  I  am  so  very  glad  to  know  you,  Miss  Mitchell. 
This  is  my  sister,  Mrs.  Winchester,  who  has  kindly 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF  PARIS  REVERSED.   69 

consented  to  preside  over  our  little  party,  and  who 
will,  I  know,  have  the  goodness  to  show  the  ladies 
where  to  leave  their  wraps."  Before  my  first  guests 
had  taken  off  their  things  Hollingsford  appeared, 
accompanied  by  his  cousin,  Miss  Palmer,  and  closely 
followed  by  Weston  and  his  cousin,  Miss  Winifred 
Weston. 

It  was  not  until  all  were  fairly  seated  at  table 
that  I  succeeded  in  getting  a  good  square  look  at 
the  three  cousins,  and  then  I  know  that  I  did 
stare.  Good  heavens !  there  had  been  some  dread- 
ful mistake.  I  looked  from  Hollingsford  to  Weston 
and  from  Weston  to  Mitchell,  but  without  eliciting 
a  responsive  glance.  Then  I  looked  once  more  at 
the  cousins  ;  they  were  all  three  young  and  very 
beautiful.  Slowly  the  truth  dawned  upon  me :  I 
was  being  made  game  of;  I  had  been  selected  as 
a  fitting  victim  for  an  amazing  practical  joke. 
Once  I  thought  I  caught  a  faint  twinkle  in  Mitch- 
ell's perfidious  eye,  which  convinced  me  of  the 
fact.  I  doubted  if  these  were  their  cousins  at  all ; 
it  was  impossible  that  every  one  of  the  three  should 
have  such  a  pretty  cousin.  I  would  give  them  no 
satisfaction,  however;  they  should  not  gather  from 
my  serene  bearing  that  I  recognized  any  departure 
from  the  original  program ;  so  I  smiled  and  con- 
versed with  the  cousins  one  and  all  in  a  way  cal- 
culated to  show  that  I  was  perfectly  at  my  ease. 

Miss    Mitchell    was    a   brilliant    brunette,    with 


70    THE  JUDGMENT  OF  PARIS  REVERSED. 

laughing  brown  eyes  and  very  rosy  cheeks  and  dark 
wavy  hair ;  she  was  dressed  in  a  gown  of  dark  blue 
velvet  which  became  her  wonderfully,  —  a  fact  of 
which  she  seemed  quite  aware.  Miss  Palmer  and 
Miss  Weston  were  both  blondes,  though  of  quite 
different  types.  The  former  was  petite  and  charm- 
ing, with  blue  eyes,  pink  cheeks,  and  very  fluffy 
light  hair;  while  the  latter  was  tall  and  graceful, 
with  large  gray  eyes,  shaded  by  the  longest  of  black 
lashes ;  she  had  a  wonderfully  sweet  smile,  which 
disclosed  the  whitest  of  teeth;  she  wore  her  hair 
brushed  straight  back  from  her  forehead,  and 
fastened  in  a  simple  knot  at  the  back.  Her  dress 
was  of  plain  dark  green  silk,  while  Miss  Palmer 
wore  a  charming  suit  of  light  gray. 

Surely  the  enemy  had  invaded  my  very  camp, 
but  I  would  give  no  one  the  pleasure  of  knowing 
what  a  blaze  of  wrath  I  was  inwardly  stifling  as 
I  calmly  passed  the  olives,  and  begged  the  fair  ones 
to  try  the  salted  almonds.  It  was  not  that  I  really 
objected  to  the  pretty  girls,  but  it  was  the  principle 
of  the  thing.  My  confidence  had  been  abused,  and, 
moreover,  the  wretched  men  had  dared  to  invite 
their  cousins  to  come  and  laugh  at  me  in  my  own 
house.  Oh,  it  was  too  much  ;  it  was  adding  insult 
to  injury.  But  had  those  confounded  fellows  al- 
lowed their  cousins  to  share  the  joke  which  they 
seemed  to  be  enjoying  so  thoroughly  ?  No,  I  would 
not  believe  them  capable  of  such  baseness.  All 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF  PARIS  REVERSED.    71 

• 

this  indignation  I  smothered  beneath  a  surface  of 
politeness  and  gay  repartee.  Miss  Mitchell  smiled 
upon  me  most  enchantingly,  admired  my  pet 
etchings,  and  thought  me  "  so  very  kind  to  take 
them  to  the  theatre  afterward."  Miss  Palmer 
looked  at  me  with  the  frankest  of  big  blue  eyes, 
and  seemed  to  possess  the  wonderful  faculty  of 
drawing  out  one's  opinions  and  preferences  for  the 
sole  purpose  of  showing  how  perfectly  she  agreed 
with  them  all.  She  seemed  to  have  always  thought 
just  as  I  did  on  every  subject,  as  nearly  as  I  could 
ascertain;  but  ever  and  anon  I  fancied  that  I 
caught  a  significant  smile  passing  from  her  to 
Weston,  and  once  I  felt  sure  that  Miss  Palmer 
actually  winked  at  Hollingsford. 

This  was  more  than  flesh  and  blood  could  stand. 
I  knew  that  the  color  was  mounting  to  my  cheeks, 
and  that  my  temper  was  giving  way.  With  a 
supreme  effort  I  turned  and  began  to  devote  my- 
self to  Miss  Winifred  Weston,  in  whose  gray  eyes 
I  discerned  a  sympathetic  quality  which  somehow 
reconciled  me  to  the  fact  that  she  was  not  either 
old  or  ugly.  I  found  her  so  very  sweet  and  inter- 
esting that  I  almost  had  forgotten  that  any  one  else 
was  present,  until  I  realized  that  dessert  was  upon 
the  table,  and  just  in  front  of  me  I  saw  staring  me 
in  the  face,  one  small  golden  apple,  which  surmounted 
an  inviting  dish  of  bon-bons. 

Conversation    suddenly   seemed   to    flag,   and    I 


72    THE  JUDGMENT  OF  PARIS  REVERSED. 

knew  that  all  eyes  were  upon  the  fatal  apple.  How 
I  wished  it  a  thousand  miles  away,  and  guarded  by 
the  fearful  dragon  of  the  Hesperides !  Miss  Kate 
Mitchell's  eyes  were  twinkling,  and  Miss  Palmer's 
glanced  mischievously,  while  Miss  Weston  cast  a 
sympathetic  glance  at  me,  I  was  sure,  and  my  sister, 
who  had  slowly  recovered  from  her  first  mute 
astonishment  at  my  apparently  new  departure,  bent 
upon  me  a  questioning  look. 

The  unrivalled  impudence  of  Hollingsford  rose 
to  the  emergency.  "  What  is  this  ? "  he  cried,  gayly. 
"Not  an  apple  of  discord,  I  hope.  I  see  by  the 
expression  of  Lloyd's  eye  that  he  is  going  to  present 
it  to  one  of  the  young  ladies." 

What  a  pleasure  it  would  have  been  to  have 
obliged  Hollingsford  to  swallow  it  then  and  there ! 
Had  he  told  Miss  Weston  that  I  was  to  select  the 
least  attractive  cousin,  and  present  the  apple  to  her  ? 
Now  they  were  all  waiting  to  see  me  give  myself 
away,  make  a  fool  of  myself,  lose  my  temper,  or  do 
something  equally  unbecoming.  My  breath  came 
rapidly ;  I  reached  out  my  hand  with  a  nervous 
motion  toward  the  apple,  with  a  wild  desire  to  seize 
it  and  hurl  it  wildly  at  the  smiling  and  deceitful 
Mitchell  across  the  table. 

No,  I  could  not  give  it  to  Miss  Weston,  and  so 
make  her  think  that  I  considered  the  others  better 
looking,  when  they  neither  of  them  could  hold  a 
candle  to  her  in  any  respect.  But  then,  if  I  gave  it 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF  PARIS  REVERSED.    73 

to  either  of  the  others,  I  was  pledged  to  escort  that 
one  to  the  theatre;  to  sit  by  her;  to  talk  to  her. 
No,  indeed,  I  would  do  nothing  of  the  sort,  to  be 
laughed  at  by  Miss  Mitchell,  to  be  made  fun  of  by 
Miss  Palmer.  I  would  give  it  to  my  sister  first,  and 
I  prepared  to  murmur  something  idiotic  about 
"  age  before  beauty." 

The  pause  was  in  reality  a  brief  one,  but  it  was  a 
very  bitter  one,  when  suddenly  an  angel  of  light 
came  to  my  rescue  in  the  guise  of  Miss  Weston, 
who  herself  reached  across  to  the  accursed  dish  and 
took  the  golden  apple  in  her  dainty  fingers. 

"  If  this  is  an  apple  of  discord,"  she  cried,  gayly, 
"  it  is  a  dangerous  thing,  and  we  should  beware  how 
we  trifle  with  it.  Take  warning  by  the  fate  of  the 
first  Paris,  Mr.  Lloyd,  and  do  not  call  down  upon 
your  head  the  wrath  of  Juno  and  Minerva.  The 
modern  solution  is  quite  different ;  Paris  must  keep 
the  apple  himself,  and  with  it  his  dangerous 
opinions.  Then,"  she  added,  presenting  it  to  me 
with  a  smile,  "  when  the  judgment  is  reversed,  and 
Paris,  instead  of  Aphrodite,  receives  the  apple,  surely 
no  one  can  complain." 

I  accepted  it  with  a  grateful  glance  calculated  to 
convey  all  the  admiration  I  longed  to  express,  while 
I  replied  that  "  Paris  certainly  had  nothing  to  com- 
plain of  when  Aphrodite  herself  bestowed  so  great 
a  favor  upon  him." 

It  was  a  delightful  and  happy  conclusion,  after 


74    THE  JUDGMENT  OF  PARIS  REVERSED. 

all,  and  I  rose  from  the  table  in  the  highest  of  spirits, 
which  were  not  lessened  by  the  visible  shade  of  dis- 
appointment depicted  upon  the  faces  of  several  of 
the  party  at  my  having  been  allowed  to  escape  so 
easily.  I  offered  my  arm  to  Miss  Weston,  coupled 
with  the  hope  that  she  would  accept  me  as  her  es- 
cort for  the  evening,  which  she  did,  and  what  a  per- 
fect evening  it  was  !  And  that  was  the  beginning 
of  the  end  —  yes,  the  end  of  my  old  bachelorhood. 
A  year  ago  I  would  never  have  believed  that  such 
a  thing  could  happen.  It  was  wholly  preposterous, 
impossible;  now  it  seems  the  most  natural  thing  in 
the  world.  What  poor,  unstable,  human  creatures 
we  are,  all  of  us !  Still,  if  we  must  change,  let  it  be 
for  the  better,  as  in  my  case.  Mitchell,  Hollings- 
ford,  and  Weston  had  their  little  joke;  but  "he 
laughs  best  who  laughs  last,"  and  Weston  has  lost 
his  pretty  cousin  into  the  bargain.  I  don't  know 
how  she  ever  consented  to  have  me.  She  says  that 
she  married  me  to  get  rid  of  me,  but  my  sister,  to 
whom  all  jokes  are  very  weighty  and  incomprehen- 
sible affairs,  says  that  it  was  a  very  queer  way  of 
getting  rid  of  me,  she  thinks. 

Among  my  dearest  possessions  I  cherish  one 
small  golden  apple,  which  I  will  never  part  with, 
save  to  one  to  whom,  should  she  require  it,  I  might 
return  my  treasure,  vowing  that  Paris  was  right, 
after  all,  for  it  belonged  to  the  queen  of  love  and 
beauty,  and  to  her  alone. 


A   LITTLE   STUDY   IN   COMMON 
SENSE 


A   LITTLE    STUDY    IN   COM- 
MON SENSE 


WHATEVER  lesser  or  greater  articles  of  faith 
we  have  the  foolishness  (or  wisdom)  to 
question,  there  is  one  to  which  we  all  subscribe. 
One  which  rich  and  poor,  and  high  and  low,  adopt 
in  pleasing  unison ;  the  wise  man,  in  his  wisdom, 
still  adheres  to  it,  and  even  the  fool  has  wits  enough 
not  to  despise  it. 

This  is  the  doctrine  of  "  common  sense." 

"Nothing  avails  you  if  you  have  not  common 
sense,"  we  hear  declaimed  at  frequent  intervals 
during  our  journey  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave. 
We  early  learn  to  reverence  and  respect  it,  though 
we  may  fail  to  doff  our  caps  to  age,  or  to  be  reason- 
ably civil  to  our  betters. 

As  we  increase  in  years,  we  generally  value  still 
more  highly  "sound  common  sense,"  and  fancy 
that  most  of  the  ills  which  have  beset  our  pathway 
have  crept  in  when  this  admirable  commodity  was 
absent.  (And  so,  no  doubt,  they  have.) 

And  when  old  age  advances,  we  ever  throw  the 
weight  of  our  experience  into  the  balance  with  "  cool 

77 


78   A   LITTLE  STUDY  IN  COMMON  SENSE. 

common  sense,"  of  which  we  prate  insufferably  to  all 
young  persons,  as  though  their  chance  of  happiness 
depended  solely  on  the  attainment  of  this  one 
desirable  quality. 

Most  of  the  luckless  beings  who  alight  upon  the 
surface  of  this  earth  arrive  here  in  a  very  foolish 
state,  and  needs  must  spend  the  best  years  of  their 
lives  in  fostering  the  little  grain  of  sense  which 
they  have  been  endowed  with  at  the  start. 

Mrs.  De  Forrest  Bristol's  daughter  Juliette  was 
not  one  of  these.  She  came  into  the  world, 
Minerva-like,  armed  and  equipped  with  an  almost 
incredible  amount  of  common  sense.  She  was 
born  preeminently  sensible,  and  at  an  age  when 
other  children  behaved  themselves  (or  misbehaved 
themselves)  like  the  unreasonable  babies  that  they 
were,  she  bore  herself  with  an  intelligence  and  dig- 
nity which  quite  electrified  her  parents  and  other 
relatives. 

She  early  scorned  a  baby's  rattle  as  a  source  of 
entertainment,  preferring  to  watch  the  movements 
of  those  around  her,  while  listening  to  their  con- 
versation. And  if  she  did  sometimes  consent  to 
bite  upon  a  rubber  ring,  it  was  because  she  realized 
that  by  so  doing  she  hastened  the  arrival  of  her 
least  progressive  teeth. 

Juliette  never  screamed  violently  for  "  no  cause 
whatsoever,"  as  did  her  brothers  and  sisters  in 


A    LITTLE  STUDY  IN  COMMON  SENSE.    79 

their  infancy,  nor  did  she  show  exaggerated  glee 
over  some  brightly  colored  ball  or  painted  top. 
She  never  made  the  entire  household  wretched  be- 
cause her  dinner  chanced  to  be  delayed,  or  woke 
them  up  at  some  unearthly  hour  solely  because  her 
morning  nap  had  been  abridged. 

She  seemed  to  comprehend,  without  the  least  ado, 
that  dolls  were  stuffed  with  sawdust,  or  cotton-wool, 
and  to  accept  the  lamentable  fact  with  philosophic 
calmness;  she  understood  that  dolls  were  merely 
playthings  and  not  alive,  and,  therefore,  did  not  weep 
or  make  a  fuss  when  they  were  injured  or  destroyed. 
No,  she  was  far  too  sensible  for  that. 

Juliette's  keen  perception  early  did  away  with 
myths  regarding  Santa  Glaus,  whom  she  discerned 
at  once  as  "only  Uncle  Charlie  done  up  in  fur 
and  with  a  painted  face  on,"  and,  after  that,  no 
urging  or  persuasion  could  induce  her  to  hang  up 
her  stocking  "just  for  a  make-believe  man  to  play 
he  came  and  filled  it."  So  she  received  her  presents 
with  the  older  members  of  the  family,  and  was  duly 
informed  from  whom  they  came. 

The  "fairies"  and  the  mischief-making  "brownies" 
she  dismissed  with  a  disdainful  wave  of  her  small 
hand,  and  banished  "  Mother  Goose "  and  "  Non- 
sense Rhymes "  into  the  farthest  corner  of  the 
nursery  shelves,  while  pointing  out  to  her  surprised 
mamma  that  the  "  Arabian  Nights  "  were  "  wrong, 
wrong  stories  "  right  straight  through. 


8O   A   LITTLE  STUDY  IN  COMMON  SENSE. 

If  at  times  Juliette  disobeyed  her  parents,  she  in- 
variably received  the  necessary  punishment  with  an 
emotion  akin  to  gratitude,  because  she  realized  that 
any  chastisement  administered  was  for  her  good. 

When  any  of  the  other  children  slapped  her,  she 
never  attempted  to  slap  back,  because  she  could  fore- 
see that,  by  so  doing,  she  would  provoke  another  and 
still  harder  slap,  and  so  be  worse  off  than  before. 

Mrs.  Bristol  never  needed  to  urge  this  daughter 
to  brush  her  hair  or  wash  her  face  and  hands,  for 
Juliette  at  once  perceived  how  much  the  application 
of  a  sponge  and  hair-brush  contributed  towards  an 
attractive  personal  appearance.  The  necessary 
warnings  which  were  fruitlessly  bestowed  upon  the 
other  children  were  never  lost  upon  Juliette ;  she 
did  not  rush  pell-mell  into  the  dripping  grass  in  her 
best  shoes,  or  swallow  quarts  of  deadly  ice -water 
when  overheated,  or  eat  green  apples,  or  touch 
"  poison  ivy  "  to  see  if  it  was  really  poisoned. 

When  she  was  eight  years  old  Juliette  protested 
that  she  must  really  be  allowed  to  change  her  name 
to  Julia  ;  that  seemed  to  her  so  much  more  sensible  a 
name.  She  expressed  much  wonder  at  her  mother's 
having  chosen  such  a  sentimental  name  for  any 
child,  —  and  Mrs.  Bristol,  who  really  was  a  very 
sentimental  woman  and  doted  upon  high-flown  names, 
assented,  somewhat  ruefully,  to  the  arraignment  of 
her  taste  in  this  respect,  and  to  the  substitution 
of  Julia.  Nor  did  she  dare  to  own  to  her  stern 


A   LITTLE  STUDY  IN  COMMON  SENSE.    8 1 

mentor,  that  when  she  had  selected  the  much-scorned 
"  Juliette  "  her  wayward  fancy  had  strongly  leaned 
towards  "  Hildegarde." 

Julia  grew  up  a  most  obedient  and  thoughtful 
child,  who  could  be  trusted  to  look  out  for  the  other 
children,  who  were  several  years  her  seniors,  and  to 
prevent  their  getting  into  mischief. 

She  always  carried  her  waterproof,  umbrella,  and 
rubbers  when  it  looked  the  least  bit  cloudy,  and,  in 
consequence,  was  never  drenched  by  unexpected 
showers,  although  it  was  astonishing  to  note  how 
often  the  weather  cleared,  leaving  the  thoughtful 
Julia  to  trudge  home  laden  with  the  emblems  of  her 
forethought  not  in  use ;  whereas,  if  it  did  rain,  the 
other  children  usually  scrambled  under  her  umbrella 
and  reached  home  quite  as  dry  as  she. 

Julia  was  very  much  respected  by  her  schoolmates, 
as  such  a  highly  sensible  girl  must  needs  have  been, 
but  she  was  seldom  asked  to  share  the  foolish  secrets 
which  delighted  so  many  of  the  schoolgirls,  or  to 
take  part  in  any  youthful  escapades.  Julia,  the 
others  knew,  had  too  much  sense  for  any  such  diver- 
sions. So  they  asked  her  to  show  them  how  to 
work  their  difficult  examples,  and  then  went  off  and 
ate  their  chocolate  creams  and  pickles  with  some 
one  else. 

All  the  teachers  held  Julia  in  high  esteem ;  they 
always  knew  what  to  expect  of  her  and  where  to 
find  her,  and  were  not  disappointed.  She  studied 


82   A   LITTLE  STUDY  IN  COMMON  SENSE. 

faithfully  because  she  realized  that  if  she  wasted  her 
precious  school -days  she  would  be  very  sorry  in 
after  years ;  moreover,  she  knew  that  at  her  age  the 
mind  grasped  new  ideas  more  readily  than  at  a  later 
date,  and  understood  that  information  then  acquired 
would  remain  with  her  all  through  her  life. 

Miss  Mills,  the  oldest  teacher  at  the  academy, 
declared  that  in  all  her  long  experience  she  had 
never  come  across  a  mind  so  logical  and  finely 
balanced  as  Julia's ;  she  regarded  her  with  steadily 
increasing  interest,  and  pronounced  her  "  a  most  re- 
markable young  woman," —  yet  Miss  Mills's  favorite 
pupil  was  Elsie  Brown,  a  perfect  flyaway,  who  never 
could  remember  where  the  lesson  was,  and  when 
she  did,  forgot  to  learn  it. 

Although  Julia  was  not  the  oldest  sister,  her 
brothers  invariably  consulted  her  on  questions  of 
importance,  and  brought  her  their  torn  garments  to 
mend,  appreciating  her  sensible  advice  and  clever 
needle  work.  But  they  confided  their  youthful 
woes,  their  towering  aspirations,  and  idle  day- 
dreams to  their  other  sisters,  who  were  not  quite 
as  intelligent  as  Julia,  —  and  it  was  Rose  or  Wini- 
fred who  helped  to  manufacture  highly  decorative 
missives  to  be  dispatched  in  old  St.  Valentine's 
behalf. 

Julia's  brothers  were  very  proud  of  her  ability, 
for  she  excelled  in  everything  which  she  attempted ; 
she  could  throw  a  ball,  swim,  ride,  row,  or  play  tennis 


A   LITTLE  STUDY  IN  COMMON  SENSE.    83 

with  the  best  of  them,  and  seemed  to  understand 
just  how  things  should  be  done,  even  before  she  had 
been  shown  the  way. 

Her  brother's  friends,  too,  equally  admired  Julia's 
prowess  and  held  her  up  as  an  example  to  their  sis- 
ters, but  it  was  Rose  or  Winifred  whom  they  invited 
to  walk  with  them,  or  to  go  for  a  paddle  in  their 
canoes. 

This  certainly  seemed  a  very  curious  mistake  for 
them  to  make,  for  the  young  fellows  knew  that 
Julia  was  in  every  way  superior  to  her  sisters,  who 
were  really  very  senseless  young  women,  foolish 
enough  to  fancy  that  the  young  men  who  took  them 
out  canoeing  were  very  clever  and  remarkably  fine 
fellows,  whereas,  their  sister  could  have  told  them 
that  they  were  very  commonplace. 

The  young  men  all  appreciated  Julia's  powers  of 
conversation,  for,  after  they  had  talked  to  her,  they 
went  away  declaring  that  she  was  as  intelligent  and 
bright  a  girl  as  they  had  ever  met,  and  if  they  sent 
back  bunches  of  violets  and  boxes  of  candy  to  her 
sisters  and  not  to  her,  it  was  because  they  felt  that 
she  was  quite  too  sensible  to  value  such  trivial 
things. 

Julia  enjoyed  remarkably  good  health,  although 
in  early  childhood  she  had  been  more  delicate  than 
all  the  other  children,  for  she  had  always  taken  the 
best  care  of  herself.  While  her  sisters  were  often 
very  reckless  about  taking  cold,  she  always  went 


84   A   LITTLE  STUDY  IN  COMMON  SENSE. 

provided  with  extra  wraps,  and  her  precautions  in- 
variably preserved  her  health,  unless  perchance,  on 
some  occasion,  she  insisted  upon  putting  her  wraps 
on  some  one  else  more  thinly  clad  than  she.  Her 
common  sense,  although  it  kept  her  well,  did  not 
however  insure  her  sisters,  and  so  she  often  was 
obliged  to  nurse  them,  and  take  them  gruel,  and 
bathe  their  aching  heads  with  weak  cologne,  which 
was  almost  as  tiresome  as  having  some  ailment  her- 
self. 

Julia  was  always  popular  at  parties  because  she 
danced  so  gracefully  and  talked  so  well,  and  yet 
her  sisters  usually  got  more  favors  in  the  German 
than  she,  for  everybody  knew  she  was  too  sensible 
to  mind  whether  she  had  favors  or  not,  while  other 
girls  were  very  much  provoked  if  they  did  not  re- 
ceive a  goodly  number. 

Julia  was,  with  all,  a  very  pretty  girl,  but  no  one 
ever  mentioned  the  fact  because  all  knew  that  she 
thought  more  of  intellectual  worth  than  of  mere  su- 
perficial beauty,  which  was  only  "  skin  deep,  "  and 
bound  to  fade  away  in  a  few  years ;  so  no  one 
dreamed  it  would  have  pleased  her  to  have  been 
told  her  "  eyes  were  brilliant "  or  her  "  teeth  like 
pearls.  " 

They  saved  such  silly  speeches  for  her  sisters, 
and  talked  to  her  of  science,  literature,  yes,  even 
politics  they  could  discuss  intelligently  with  her. 
And  she  had  sense  enough  to  recognize  the  value 


A    LITTLE  STUDY  IN  COMMON  SENSE.    85 

of  such  conversation,  though  possibly  she  would 
have  very  much  enjoyed  the  other  kind,  at 
times. 

Julia  would  play  on  the  piano  for  hours  at  a  time 
while  all  the  others  danced,  and  nobody  felt  troubled, 
because  all  knew  that  she  could  play  dance-music 
more  easily  and  better  than  any  of  the  rest,  and 
was  too  sensible  to  mind  whether  she  danced,  her- 
self, or  not.  Moreover,  if  the  other  girls  were  called 
upon  to  play,  they  would  invariably  expect  some  man 
to  hover  close  to  the  piano  to  turn  the  music  over, 
while  Julia  always  said  that  it  was  much  more  sen- 
sible for  all  the  men  to  dance,  —  and  then,  —  she 
played  without  her  notes. 

There  was  one  specially  attractive  man  who 
seemed  particularly  fond  of  Julia,  but  she  was  far 
too  sensible  to  offer  him  any  encouragement. 

He  never  would  converse  with  her  intelligently 
on  any  of  the  weighty  topics  which  usually  inter- 
ested her,  but  revelled  in  a  perfectly  nonsensical 
discourse,  which  would  have  certainly  disgusted  Julia 
had  she  not  had  the  sense  to  recognize  beneath  this 
flippant  speech,  a  fine  and  sterling  character,  which 
reconciled  her  to  a  great  deal  of  his  frivolous  con- 
versation (and  he  favored  her  with  a  most  generous 
amount).  He  used  to  talk  to  Julia  just  as  foolishly 
as  if  she  had  been  Rose  or  Winifred,  and  would 
make  complimentary  remarks  about  the  color  of 
her  eyes,  or  the  Greek  outline  of  her  profile,  in- 


86   A    LITTLE  STUDY  IN  COMMON  SENSE. 

stead  of  talking  literature,  or  ethics,  as  did  her  other 
friends. 

Julia,  who  could  not  but  feel  regretful  at  the  su- 
perficial way  in  which  so  fine  a  mind  expressed 
itself,  strove  patiently  to  talk  to  him  on  more 
improving  subjects,  although  her  zeal  was  wholly 
misinterpreted  by  Rose  and  Winifred,  who  said 
that  she  was  not  so  fond  of  talking  sense  as  she 
pretended. 

This  young  man  even  went  so  far  astray  from 
paths  of  common  sense  as  to  beg  for  a  lock  of 
Julia's  hair,  which  she,  of  course,  refrained  from  giv- 
ing him,  and  actually  stole  one  of  her  photographs 
from  her  eldest  brother's  dressing  -  table,  after  she 
had  most  sensibly  refused  to  give  him  one.  This 
she  regarded  as  a  dreadful  piece  of  folly,  but  she 
had  sense  enough  to  make  no  fuss  about  it,  and  not 
to  mention  it  to  her  two  sisters ;  so  the  young  man 
kept  the  picture. 

When  he  came  to  call,  he  did  not  even  ask  to  see 
the  other  members  of  the  family,  but  told  the  maid 
that  if  Miss  Julia  was  not  in,  he  would  come  again 
some  other  time. 

Julia  was  far  too  sensible  to  favor  such  a  line  of 
action  and  always  called  in  Rose  and  Winifred,  who 
did  not  know  that  he  had  specially  refrained  from 
asking  for  them,  and  freely  took  part  in  the  conver- 
sation, not  dreaming  that  he  might  have  actually 
preferred  to  see  Julia  alone.  At  first,  this  used 


A    LITTLE  STUDY  IN  COMMON  SENSE.    8? 

greatly  to  annoy  the  caller,  who  considered  that  he 
was  being  treated  shabbily,  but,  after  some  little 
time,  he  became  reconciled  to  Rose  and  Winifred 
and  never  failed  to  ask  for  the  "  young  ladies." 

This  same  man  was  extremely  fond  of  chess,  and 
used  to  drop  in  very  frequently  to  play  with  Julia, 
who  generally  could  beat  him  (she  played  so  fine  a 
game),  and  after  they  had  ended  a  long  and  scien- 
tific struggle,  he  would  suggest  that,  after  such  a 
contest,  they  really  ought  to  step  out  on  to  the  cool 
veranda  to  see  the  moon  and  get  a  breath  of  air. 
And  she  would  readily  assent,  knowing  that  it  was 
very  beneficial  to  fill  one's  lungs  with  pure  fresh  air 
before  retiring  for  the  night. 

Now,  although  Rose  and  Winifred  did  not  play 
chess,  they  often  hovered  near  and  watched  the 
game,  and  when  the  visitor  suggested  that  they  ad- 
journ in  search  of  oxygen  or  moonlight,  Julia's 
common  sense  could  not  ignore  the  fact  that  pure, 
fresh  air  was  also  beneficial  for  Rose  and  Winifred, 
who  in  their  turn  had  not  the  sense  to  realize  that 
the  young  man  might  perhaps  prefer  a  t£te-&-tete 
with  Julia,  but  joined  the  chess-players  without 
waiting  for  further  urging,  which  they  undoubtedly 
would  never  have  received. 

As  they  inhaled  the  evening  breezes  on  the  cool 
veranda,  the  young  man  would  devote  himself  to 
Julia,  while  Rose  (who  was  invariably  on  hand)  sat 
idly  thrumming  her  guitar ;  she  made  a  very  pretty 


88   A   LITTLE  STUDY  IN  COMMON  SENSE. 

picture  as  the  moonlight  fell  upon  her,  as  both  the 
others  could  not  fail  to  realize,  though  Julia  was  the 
first  to  call  attention  to  the  fact.  And  the  visitor, 
having  once  had  his  attention  directed  towards  the 
picturesque  musician,  glanced  frequently  at  her  as 
he  continued  his  conversation  with  her  sister,  and 
it  was  hardly  strange  that  his  mind  sometimes 
wandered  from  the  intelligent  discourse  he  was 
enjoying,  to  Rose's  fitful  melodies,  or  that  he  even 
irrelevantly  asked  her  to  sing  him  this  or  that  pet 
song,  instead  of  answering  at  once  some  question 
which  Julia  had  propounded. 

As  the  long  summer  evenings  crept  by,  the  visi- 
tor's interest  in  Rose's  songs  increased,  owing  to 
the  heat,  which  lessened  his  enthusiasm  for  chess 
(which  never  could  have  equalled  Julia's),  who  would 
have  played  willingly  (with  him)  no  matter  to  what 
altitude  the  mercury  had  climbed. 

Yes,  the  young  man's  interest  in  chess  had  cer- 
tainly declined,  and  though  he  had  declared,  in 
times  gone  by,  that  he  enjoyed  this  favorite  game 
above  all  else,  he  now  showed  no  desire  to  indulge  in 
it  at  all,  and,  as  they  sat  upon  the  porch,  his  conver- 
sation (which,  I  regret  to  say,  showed  little  of  the 
intellectual  quality  which  Julia  had  endeavored  to 
inculcate)  was  oftener  addressed  to  Rose  than  to 
her  sister. 

In  fact  he  hardly  noticed  that  Julia  often  slipped 
away  and  left  him  there  with  Rose ;  or  if  he  did, 


A   LITTLE  STUDY  IN  COMMON  SENSE.    89 

apparently  he  did  not  mind  it,  for  Rose  was  very 
charming,  although  not  intellectual  in  the  least,  and 
looked  at  him  with  an  undisguised  admiration  which 
Julia  (even  had  she  felt  it)  would  have  been  quite 
too  sensible  to  have  exhibited. 

And  so,  at  last,  Rose  and  the  visitor  drifted  away 
from  Julia  altogether,  and  she,  seeing  that  her 
society  was  easily  dispensed  with,  had  too  much 
sense  to  intrude  where  her  company  was  not  partic- 
ularly desired. 

Therefore  it  came  about  that  when  the  young 
man  came  to  call,  he  asked  for  Rose,  who,  not  being 
sensible  at  all,  did  not  feel  called  upon  to  urge  her 
sister  Julia  to  join  them. 

And  one  day,  Rose  and  the  young  man,  who  had 
been  so  devoted  to  her  sister,  became  engaged,  and 
he  forgot  that  he  had  stolen  Julia's  picture,  or  had 
considered  chess  the  finest  game  in  all  the  world,  so 
much  greater  was  his  enthusiasm  for  music  (espe- 
cially that  played  by  Rose  on  her  guitar). 

When  the  engagement  was  announced  to  Julia, 
she  kissed  her  sister,  and  extended  her  hand  to  the 
young  man  who  had  once  wanted  a  lock  of  her  hair, 
but  when  the  latter  gaily  said  that  he  should  claim 
the  privilege  of  saluting  his  future  sister,  she  swiftly 
turned  and  left  the  room. 

"  I  always  thought  that  Julia  barely  tolerated 
me,"  the  young  man  said,  "  but  now  I  almost  feel 
as  though  she  actually  dislikes  me."  To  which 


90   A   LITTLE  STUDY  IN  COMMON  SENSE. 

Rose,  who  knew  her  sister  better,  only  answered 
evasively,  "Never  mind,  she  will  get  over  it  in 
time." 

And  Julia  went  and  locked  herself  into  her  room 
and  sat  for  hours  at  her  desk  gazing  at  a  small 
package  of  letters  fastened  together  with  an  elastic 
band  (she  deemed  blue  ribbon  very  foolish),  which 
letters  she  read  over  slowly  several  times  before  she 
tore  them  up.  After  that  she  sat  for  a  long  time 
trying  to  convince  herself  that  Rose  would  after  all 
make  the  young  man  a  great  deal  happier  than  she 
could  ever  have  hoped  to;  but  her  good  common 
sense  refused  this  consolation,  and  told  her  plainly 
that  this  was  not  the  case ;  so  she  sat  motionless,  and 
watched  the  scrap-basket  where  she  had  thrown  the 
torn-up  package  of  letters ;  but  she  was  far  too  sen- 
sible to  cry. 

And  Rose  married  the  man  who  used  to  play  so 
many  games  of  chess  with  Julia,  and  no  one  ever 
dreamed  (except  Rose,  and  she  never  told  the 
dream)  that  Julia  cared.  She  was  as  sensible  and 
practical  as  ever,  and  it  was  owing  to  her  clear  head 
and  clever  management  that  all  the  wedding  festivi- 
ties went  off  so  smoothly. 

"When  you  are  married,  Julia,"  Winifred  cried, 
enthusiastically,  after  the  bride  had  taken  her  de- 
parture, "  you  won't  need  any  one  to  manage  things 
ioi  you,  you  understand  so  perfectly  how  everything 
ought  to  be  done." 


A   LITTLE  STUDY  IN  COMMON  SENSE.   9 1 

Julia  did  not  reply  at  once,  but  turned  and  walked 
over  to  a  long  window,  and  stood  there  looking  out 
for  some  time  on  to  the  veranda,  where,  in  the  silver 
moonlight,  she  had  thoughtfully  discussed  so  many 
intellectual  themes  with  the  young  man  who  had 
just  driven  away  with  Rose  amid  a  shower  of  rice. 
"  I  am  too  sensible  ever  to  marry,"  she  answered, 
quietly. 

And  so  indeed  she  was. 


MR.   HURD'S    HOLIDAY 


NO   BUSINESS   TO-MORROW,    MY   DEAR.'" 


MR.    KURD'S    HOLIDAY 


"  IV  TO  business  to-morrow,  my  dear,"  Mr.  Hurd 
1  \l    announced,  cheerfully,  to  his  better  half,  as 
he  stepped  into  the  sitting-room  and  deposited  sev- 
eral brown  paper  bundles  upon  one  of  the  chairs. 

"  Why,  to  be  sure,"  she  responded,  brightening. 
"  I  had  almost  forgotten  that  it  will  be  a  holiday ; 
what  are  you  going  to  do  to  celebrate  ?  I  suppose 
that  we  might  all  go  off  somewhere  for  the  day," 
she  concluded,  thoughtfully. 

Mr.  Hurd  shook  his  head.  "  There  are  a  num- 
ber of  things  about  the  house  which  I  am  intending 
to  look  into  to-morrow;  it  is  only  a  few  days  ago 
that  you  were  complaining  that  I  was  not  more 
domestic,  so  now  I  am  going  to  turn  over  a  new 
leaf.  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  we  are 
constantly  paying  out  money  to  incompetent  work- 
men for  little  odd  repairs  that  I  could  just  as  well 
do  myself.  Any  man  with  brains  and  the  proper 
tools  at  hand  can  turn  off  a  good  many  dollars' 
worth  of  work  in  his  spare  moments,"  he  went  on, 
as  he  removed  the  paper  wrappings  from  the  several 
bundles. 

95 


96  MR.  HUR&S  HOLIDAY. 

"Are  you  sure  that  you  are  feeling  as  well  as 
usual,  Theodore  ? "  his  wife  inquired,  watching  him 
in  anxious  astonishment,  while  she  recalled  her 
many  fruitless  efforts  in  the  past  to  awaken  in  him 
a  desire  to  help  about  some  slight  household  detail 
which  sadly  needed  attention. 

"  Never  better,  my  dear,"  he  answered,  unrolling 
a  bottle  of  glue  and  setting  it  upon  the  mantel-piece. 
"Why  do  you  ask?" 

"Well,  you  see,  Theodore,  it  is  such  a  new  de- 
parture for  you,  that  —  I  —  could  n't  help  wonder- 
ing if-" 

"  Well,  if  what  ?  " 

"  If  anything  were  the  matter ;  if  you  were  quite 
yourself.  You  're  not  feverish,  are  you,  Theodore  ? " 
she  concluded,  running  her  fingers  over  his  forehead. 

Mr.  Hurd  smiled  benignly,  as  he  produced  a 
small  can  of  paint  and  a  brush  which  he  set  down 
next  to  the  glue.  "  I  '11  tell  you  just  how  it  hap- 
pened, my  dear,"  he  said.  "  On  my  way  down 
town  I  overtook  Levering,  and  as  we  walked  along 
together  I  asked  him  casually  how  he  was  going  to 
celebrate  to-morrow.  '  As  I  usually  spend  my  holi- 
days,' he  replied,  '  in  repairing  and  tinkering  up 
things  about  the  house,  and  doing  my  best  to  freeze 
out  the  carpenter  and  the  plumber,  beside  sorting 
over  old  papers  and  putting  things  to  rights  that  I 
seldom  have  a  chance  at.'  After  I  left  him  I  be- 
gan to  think  how  many  holidays  I  had  wasted  when 


MR.   HURD'S  HOLIDAY.  97 

I  might  have  been  really  accomplishing  something, 
and  have  had  money  in  my  pocket  to  boot. 

"  I  have  reformed,  my  dear,"  he  concluded,  open- 
ing the  last  of  the  paper  bundles,  as  you  will  see 
to-morrow ;  here  are  half  a  dozen  new  tools  which 
I  find  I  need  if  I  am  to  do  anything  of  this  kind 
really  well.  Is  n't  that  a  nice  little  hammer  ?  and 
you  remember  that  we  had  n't  any  chisel  or  screw- 
driver that  a  man  could  properly  work  with." 

Mrs.  Kurd  gazed  at  her  husband,  while  tears  rose 
to  her  eyes.  "  Theodore,"  she  said,  huskily,  "  you 
have  realized  one  of  my  dearest  hopes.  With  all 
your  faults,  you  have  always  been  far  ahead  of  other 
men,  and  now  —  now  I  am  almost  afraid  you  are 
too  perfect ;  you  're  sure  that  you  do  feel  quite  well, 
and  have  n't  any  sharp  pain  darting  through  your 
chest  ? " 

The  following  morning  Mr.  Hurd  began  to  carry 
out  his  good  resolutions  immediately  after  break- 
fast ;  and  when  the  younger  children  urged  him  to 
go  for  a  walk,  he  informed  them  that  "  father  had 
some  very  important  work  to  do,  but  that  they 
might  watch  him  if  they  liked." 

Mrs.  Hurd  met  him  soon  afterwards  mounting 
the  attic  stairs,  followed  by  a  procession  of  willing 
helpers.  "  Where  are  you  going,  Theodore  ? "  she 
inquired. 

"  It  is  a  long  time  since  we  had  the  tank  cleaned 
out,"  he  responded,  "  and  I  see  no  need  of  paying 


.98  MR.   HUR&S  HOLIDAY. 

an  incompetent  and  expensive  plumber,  who  brings 
another  man  to  stand  around  and  look  at  him,  for 
doing  a  simple  thing  like  that." 

"Very  well,  dear,"  his  wife  said,  encouragingly, 
"only  are  you  sure  that  you  understand  all  about 
it?" 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  he  replied,  a  trifle  indignantly, 
and  Mrs.  Kurd,  realizing  that  she  ought  to  have 
more  confidence  in  him  than  to  suggest  such  a  pos- 
sibility, retired  meekly  to  her  own  room,  where  she 
quietly  settled  herself  to  her  embroidery.  "It  is 
such  a  comfort  to  have  Theodore  interested  in 
these  little  household  matters,"  she  murmured, 
contentedly. 

"It  is  an  education  for  the  children,  too,"  she 
meditated,  as  she  listened  to  them  running  up  and 
down  stairs  to  bring  their  father  first  one  thing  and 
then  another,  and  heard  his  voice  from  above  in- 
structing them  to  start  all  the  faucets  running  in 
the  bathroom,  and  to  bring  him  a  pail  and  two  or 
three  sponges. 

In  the  course  of  five  minutes  her  youngest  son 
appeared  at  her  elbow.  "  What  is  it,  Johnnie  ? " 
she  questioned. 

"Father  wants  his  other  pair  of  glasses,"  he 
announced;  "he's  just  smashed  his  best  ones." 

"  What,  those  beautiful  new  pebbles ! "  Mrs. 
Hurd  cried,  regretfully  ;  "  how  did  it  happen  ? " 

"  Oh,  he  was  just  looking  down  into  the  tank,  and 


MR.   HURD'S  HOLIDAY.  99 

they  dropped  off  and  struck  on  a  piece  of  lead 
pipe,"  Johnny  answered,  skipping  gayly  away  with 
the  other  pair  of  glasses.  To  him  these  little  casu- 
alties added  greatly  to  the  enjoyment  of  the 
occasion. 

In  a  short  space  of  time,  a  rap  at  Mrs.  Kurd's 
door  caused  her  to  look  up  from  her  work.  In  the 
doorway  stood  the  cook,  apparently  much  agitated. 
"  Oh,  mum,"  she  gasped,  breathlessly,  "  somethin's 
a  leakin' !  Will  yez  come  down  to  the  kitchen  ? 
Sure  an'  the  ceilin  's  all  wet  and  drippin'  down  on 
me." 

Mrs.  Kurd  sprang  up.  "  They  must  have  let  the 
bath-tub  overflow,"  she  exclaimed.  "  Come,  we 
must  all  turn  to  with  mops,  cloths,  and  all  the 
sponges  we  can  get  hold  of." 

"I  suppose  you  know,  Theodore,  that  you  have 
flooded  the  house,"  she  called  up -stairs,  adding, 
"  Quick,  Johnny,  bring  me  down  all  those  sponges 
this  very  minute." 

As  Johnny  came  leisurely  down -stairs  with  the 
necessary  sponges,  he  remarked,  gleefully,  "  Pa 
couldn't  clean  it  out  much  of  any,  after  all;  he 
says  that  no  one  but  the  plumber  can  get  at  it." 
At  this  point,  having  reached  his  mother's  side,  he 
whispered :  "  He 's  broken  his  other  glasses,  too, 
but  he  said  we  need  n't  say  anything  to  you  about 
it." 

A  little  later  in  the  morning,  when  the  house- 


100  MR.   KURD'S  HOLIDAY. 

hold  had  once  more  resumed  its  usual  atmosphere 
of  tranquillity,  Mr.  Kurd  entered  the  sitting-room 
with  an  air  of  quiet  determination.  "  I  am  going 
to  adjust  that  new  gas-burner,  that  I  bought  so 
long  ago,"  he  remarked,  displaying  it. 

"  Oh,  Theodore,  don't  you  think  you  had  better 
leave  it  till  the  gas  man  comes  ? "  his  wife  remon- 
strated. 

"  Nonsense,"  he  responded,  "  I  should  hope  that 
I  could  screw  on  a  simple  fixture  like  that.  Boys," 
he  added,  "just  run  down  cellar  and  bring  me  up 
the  tallest  steps,  and  then  ask  Jane  if  she  knows 
where  that  monkey-wrench  was  put." 

Mrs.  Hurd  withdrew  once  more  to  the  seclusion 
of  her  own  apartments,  after  a  timid  protest  regard- 
ing the  danger  of  allowing  the  gas  to  escape  too 
freely.  She  embroidered  peacefully  for  a  few 
moments,  and  was  beginning  to  congratulate  her- 
self that  all  was  well,  when  a  dull  thud,  accompanied 
by  a  crash,  caused  her  to  spring  to  her  feet. 

"  Oh,  what  has  happened  ? "  she  called  out,  in 
agonized  tones.  "  Are  you  killed,  Theodore  ? " 

Mrs.  Hurd  rushed  frantically  down-stairs  in  time 
to  catch  sight  of  her  husband  picking  himself  up 
from  the  floor  where  he  had  apparently  been  seated 
amidst  shattered  fragments  of  several  glass  globes 
which  had  accompanied  his  sudden  descent,  while 
the  voices  of  the  children  questioned,  anxiously, 
"  Have  you  hurt  yourself,  papa  ? " 


MR.   HURD'S  HOLIDAY.  IOI 

Before  his  family  could  ascertain  how  badly  he 
had  been  injured,  he  rose  majestically,  swelling 
with  righteous  indignation,  and  even  refusing  to 
allow  Mrs.  Kurd  to  examine  the  cut  on  his  left 
wrist,  which  was  bleeding  freely  from  too  close  a 
contact  with  one  of  the  defunct  gas-globes. 

"  It  is  shameful  to  keep  a  pair  of  steps  like  that 
in  the  cellar  of  any  respectable  house,"  he  thun- 
dered, crunching  the  broken  glass  under  foot.  "  They 
are  only  fit  for  kindling  wood !  They  should  have 
been  chopped  up  long  ago,  long  ago !  I  never  in 
my  life  saw  such  a  shiftless  set  of  people.  Nobody 
takes  a  bit  of  interest  in  anything  about  the  house, 
but  everything  is  left  for  me  to  attend  to,  and  I  —  I 
have  nothing  more  important  to  do  than  to  spend 
my  time  regulating  the  contents  of  the  attic  and  the 
cellar,  and  now  look  at  that ! "  and  he  pointed  up 
wards  to  the  half-adjusted  gas-fixture.  Mrs.  Hurd 
turned  her  eyes  in  that  direction  and  allowed  them 
to  rest  regretfully  on  the  chandelier,  which  was 
bent  far  out  from  its  usual  position  and  no  longer 
hung  at  right  angles  from  the  ceiling. 

"Never  mind  that,  Theodore,"  she  said,  con- 
solingly, "  I  'm  thankful  that  it  broke  your  fall ;  we 
shall  have  to  get  the  gas  man  here  to  fix  it,  and  he 
can  finish  adjusting  the  new  burner  at  the  same 
time,  so  please  say  you  won't  attempt  to  do  any- 
thing more  to  it  just  now,  won't  you,  Theodore  ? " 
And  Mr.  Hurd  said  he  would  n't. 


102  MR.   NURD'S  HOLIDAY. 

After  luncheon,  Mrs.  Hurd  urged  that  it  would 
be  a  good  chance  for  them  to  make  a  long-talked-of 
call  on  their  new  neighbors  across  the  way. 

"  I  've  been  waiting  for  you  to  go  with  me,  Theo- 
dore," she  ventured,  persuasively,  but  he  shook  his 
head  and  insisted  that  he  did  n't  feel  like  making 
calls. 

"  Then  I  '11  run  over  without  you,"  she  said,  re- 
signedly, thinking  that  he  might  be  feeling  some- 
what lame  after  his  fall  from  "  the  tallest  steps." 

"  I  sha'  n  't  be  gone  long,"  she  said,  pleasantly, 
looking  into  the  library,  where  her  husband  was 
settled  comfortably  with  his  pipe  and  one  of  the 
magazines.  "  Why  don't  you  take  a  nap  while  I  'm 
gone  ? "  she  suggested,  pausing,  with  her  hand  on 
the  front  door-knob;  then  she  went  cheerfully  on 
her  way. 

When  Mrs.  Hurd  returned,  three-quarters  of  an 
hour  later,  a  strong  odor  of  paint  greeted  her  nos- 
trils, mingled  with  another  unmistakably  like  ben- 
zine. "  Johnny,"  she  inquired  of  her  youngest  boy, 
who  was  buried  in  a  book  in  a  distant  corner  of  the 
library,  "  where  is  your  father  ? " 

"  Oh,  he 's  up-stairs,  painting  the  back  entry,"  he 
responded.  "  I  was  helping  him,  but  I  got  some 
paint  on  me  and  he  sent  me  down  here." 

"  On  you"  his  mother  exclaimed,  scrutinizing  him 
hastily,  "  say,  rather,  all  over  your  lovely  new  suit. 
Oh,  Johnny  !  how  could  you  be  so  careless  !  " 


MR.   HURD'S  HOLIDAY.  1 03 

Mrs.  Kurd  hurried  up-stairs,  guided  by  an  in- 
creasing odor  of  paint,  which  plainly  bespoke  the 
continuance  of  Mr.  Kurd's  good  resolutions.  As 
she  opened  the  door  into  the  back  entry,  her  hus- 
band's voice  called  to  her  to  "  Look  out  for  paint ! 
I  've  painted  the  door  on  both  sides,"  he  concluded ; 
but  this  warning  came  too  late,  for  already  her  vel- 
vet cape  had  swept  against  the  newly  coated  surface. 

This  was  more  than  flesh  and  blood  could  with- 
stand, and  Mrs.  Kurd's  pent-up  indignation  burst 
forth. 

"  I  should  think  that  you  had  done  enough  harm 
for  one  day,  Theodore,"  she  exclaimed,  reproach- 
fully ;  "  my  best  cape  is  entirely  ruined,  and  you 
know  it  is  n't  paid  for  yet !  I  meant  to  have  told 
you  that  the  bill  for  it  came  only  yesterday." 

"  Go  back,  don't  come  out  here,  my  dear,"  Mr. 
Kurd  cried  excitedly,  "  we  've  just  met  with  an 
accident;  they  will  happen  in  the  best  regulated 
families,  you  know."  Here  his  voice  took  on  a  more 
persuasive  tone,  as  he  cast  a  hurried  look  at  his 
wife,  who  stood  like  some  avenging  spirit  in  the 
doorway,  and  then  he  stooped  down  and  continued 
to  rub  the  carpet  energetically  with  a  roll  of  cloth 
which  he  held  in  one  hand. 

"  Have  you  decided  to  paint  the  entry  carpet  with 
a  whole  roll  of  my  emergency  bandages,  Theodore  ? " 
Mrs.  Kurd  said,  coldly.  "  I  thought  you  had  bought 
yourself  a  new  brush  for  that  purpose."  Then  she 


104  MR-   HURD^S  HOLIDAY. 

relented  slightly  at  sight  of  his  dejected  countenance, 
as  he  knelt  upon  the  floor.  "  What  was  the  catas- 
trophe this  time  ?  "  she  questioned,  mournfully. 

"  I  was  opening  that  largest  pot  of  paint,  and 
very  excellent  paint  it  is,  too,"  he  responded  volu- 
bly, "  when  Johnny  knocked  my  elbow,  wholly  by 
accident,  my  dear,  and  sent  the  contents  all  over 
the  floor;  so  we  have  had  rather  bad  work  here 
with  it,  but  it's  pretty  much  all  up,  now,"  he  an- 
nounced, with  an  effort  at  great  cheerfulness,  as  he 
gave  a  final  rub  with  the  emergency  bandage. 

"  After  all,  this  carpet  is  about  worn  out,"  Mr. 
Hurd  went  on,  "  so  a  little  paint  on  it  does  n't  mat- 
ter; moreover,  I  told  the  boys  that  they  might  as 
well  begin  to  take  it  right  up,  and  I  would  see  about 
getting  a  new  one  to-morrow.  They  're  workers,  I 
can  tell  you  !  Why,  they  have  taken  out  all  the 
tacks  already ;  and,  by  the  way,  Johnny  stepped  on 
one  and  ran  it  into  his  foot,  and  I  told  him  he  had 
better  let  you  look  at  the  place,  to  see  if  there  was 
any  danger  of  his  having  lockjaw,  or  anything  of 
that  sort." 

"I  will  go  and  bathe  his  foot  in  hot  water  at 
once,"  she  replied,  turning  to  depart.  Then  she 
paused  and  looked  across  the  back  entry  at  her  hus- 
band, who  stood  confronting  her  in  his  shirt-sleeves. 
"  May  I  ask  why  the  stopper  is  out  of  that  bottle  of 
benzine  ? "  she  queried. 

"  Oh,"  he  answered,  meekly,  putting  in  the  cork, 


MR.   HURD'S  HOLIDAY.  1 05 

"  I  got  a  little  paint  on  my  own  coat,  and  I  thought 
that  benzine  would  take  it  off.  I  've  heard  you  say 
that  it  was  the  best  thing  —  " 

Mrs.  Hurd  lifted  her  skirts  gingerly,  and  stepped 
across  the  entry  carpet.  "  I  will  take  your  coat  and 
get  off  the  paint,  Theodore,"  she  said,  reassuringly, 
"  if  you  will  promise  me  one  thing :  promise  me  that 
you  will,  under  no  circumstances,  help  any  more 
about  the  house." 

"  Very  well,"  he  assented,  "  then  I  won't  melt  up 
any  of  that  glue  I  brought  home  to  mend  the  chairs 
with." 

"  No,  no,  indeed,"  she  protested,  earnestly ;  "  if 
you  have  any  love  for  me,  Theodore,  say  that  you 
will  do  nothing  of  the  sort.  It  is  all  very  well  for 
ordinary  men,  men  who  have  n't  your  talents  and 
ability,  to  do  such  things,  but  with  you  it  is  quite 
different;  you  are  capable  of  something  better. 
Spend  your  holidays  any  way  you  like.  Go  to  the 
club,  go  fishing,  eat,  smoke,  play  billiards,  but  give 
me  your  word  that,  whatever  happens,  you  will 
never  be  helpful  about  the  house  again  ! " 

And,  with  his  hand  upon  the  benzine  bottle,  Mr. 
Hurd  took  a  solemn  oath  that  he  never  would. 


THE    EVOLUTION    OF    A 
BONNET 


THE    EVOLUTION   OF  A 
BONNET 


MISS  ELIZABETH  MOORE  was  quite  a  phi- 
losopher in  her  way,  though  no  one  would 
have  been  more  astonished  than  she  to  have  been 
told  so.  In  fact,  I  doubt  if  her  ideas  about  philoso- 
phers were  at  all  distinct.  Had  you  insisted  upon 
a  definition,  she  would  have  told  you  that  Thorn- 
bridge,  being  a  busy  place,  had  no  use  for  a  class  of 
individuals  who  talked  instead  of  working,  and  who 
spent  their  time  in  thinking  about  things  instead  of 
buckling  down  and  doing  them. 

Thornbridge  was  a  town  in  which  the  spirit  of 
work  reigned  supreme,  and  the  thrifty  inhabitants 
had  very  few  idle  moments  in  which  to  grow  un- 
happy or  discontented ;  they  lived  in  an  ideal  and 
Arcadian  atmosphere,  which  was  as  yet  unspoiled 
by  any  current  from  the  great  sea  of  manufacturing 
interests.  The  beauty  of  the  country  was,  however, 
beginning  to  attract  a  rapidly  increasing  summer 
population  to  the  picturesque  old  town,  who,  with 
their  fancy  cottages  and  wonderful  equipages,  filled 
the  sturdy  inhabitants  with  a  kind  of  awe,  which 


1 10        THE   EVOLUTION  OF  A   BONNET. 

soon  gave  place  to  a  hearty  dislike,  as  the  invaders 
increased  in  numbers,  and,  without  saying  by  your 
leave,  proceeded  to  erect  casinos  and  bowling-alleys 
and  numberless  other  things  for  their  own  benefit, 
into  which  the  worthy  natives  received  no  invitation 
to  enter.  Moreover,  the  knowledge  of  the  fact  that 
the  land  obtained  from  the  honest  farmers  for  a 
mere  song  was  sold  again  to  others  for  five  and  six 
times  the  original  amount  aroused  their  righteous 
indignation,  which  was  not  lessened  by  the  visita- 
tions of  cruel  and  sweetly  smiling  ladies,  who,  on 
some  pretense  or  other,  found  their  way  into  the 
neat  cottages  and  farmhouses,  and  who,  by  virtue 
of  a  few  fair  words  and  a  surprisingly  few  silver 
coins,  carried  off  old  clocks,  old  spinning-wheels,  and 
old  china  from  the  simple  farmers'  wives  and 
daughters,  to  whom  a  little  ready  money  seemed  so 
much  more  precious  than  the  few  household  treas- 
ures which  they  gave  in  return. 

The  substantial  old  farmhouse  occupied  by  Miss 
Elizabeth  Moore  and  her  niece,  Delight,  was  on  the 
very  outskirts  of  the  village,  and  stood  alone  upon  a 
little  breezy  promontory  commanding  a  charming 
view  of  the  village  below.  The  house  and  several 
acres  of  land  had  been  Elizabeth's  share  of  old 
Farmer  Moore's  property  after  his  death,  and  in 
vain  had  been  the  offers  of  the  relentless  summer 
boarders  who  would  have  liked  to  build  upon  this 
desirable  spot. 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  BONNET.        Ill 

Miss  Elizabeth  was  firm  on  these  occasions, 
though  firmness  was  by  no  means  one  of  her  ruling 
characteristics ;  she  was,  as  her  niece  Delight  often 
said,  much  too  impulsive,  and  had  not  her  niece 
been  on  hand  to  see  that  she  remained  unfaltering 
in  her  resolutions  at  some  such  time,  it  is  just  possi- 
ble that  Miss  Elizabeth  might,  dazzled  by  the  offer 
of  so  much  money,  have  sold  the  house  and  land, 
and  realized  what  seemed  to  her  an  enormous  for- 
tune by  the  transaction. 

At  the  time  of  which  I  speak  it  was  a  perfect 
summer  evening,  with  just  the  faintest  breeze  rus- 
tling through  the  honeysuckles  on  the  porch.  Miss 
Elizabeth  sat  stiffly  in  her  high-backed  rocker,  with 
her  knitting  in  her  hands,  and  her  busy  needles 
clicked  regardless  of  the  fast-settling  darkness,  for 
she  always  thought  with  scorn  of  those  who  had  to 
"  look  on  "  to  knit. 

Delight,  quite  unconscious  of  the  graceful  picture 
she  made,  was  seated  upon  the  upper  step,  with  her 
head  resting  against  one  of  the  posts,  about  which 
the  honeysuckle  twined,  forming  a  leafy  background 
with  its  swaying  tendrils  and  tassels,  and  contrasting 
charmingly  with  the  wavy  brown  locks,  which  re- 
mained unruffled  by  the  breeze.  Her  fine  dark  eyes 
were  fixed  with  an  intensely  thoughtful  expression 
upon  a  distant  hill,  and  her  hands  were  clasped  in 
her  lap  with  a  firmness  which  denoted  a  mind  bent 
upon  solving  some  important  problem. 


112        THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  BONNET. 

"  No,  Aunt  Lizzie,"  she  was  saying,  "  we  cannot 
spare  one  cent  to  spend  on  a  bonnet  for  me.  You 
know  that  the  eggs  did  not  bring  in  what  we  ex- 
pected, and  it  will  take  the  last  of  my  school  money 
to  pay  for  the  flour  on  Saturday." 

"  Sakes  alive !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Elizabeth,  "  I 
guess  that  man  can  afford  to  wait  awhile  for  his 
money.  His  daughter 's  not  in  need  of  a  bonnet, 
judging  by  what  I  saw  of  combined  tail-feathers  and 
flower-gardens  on  her  head  last  Sunday.  And  as 
for  ribbons,  why,  she  must  have  bought  the  stores 
out.  You  must  get  you  one  with  that  kind  of  a  high 
crown,  Delight,"  she  added. 

"  Perhaps  I  may,  after  the  term  is  over,"  replied 
her  niece,  in  a  decided  tone,  which  did  not  prevent 
Miss  Elizabeth  from  entering  a  final  protest. 

"The  term  over,  indeed!"  she  exclaimed,  indig- 
nantly; "and  the  longest  terms  and  the  smallest 
pay !  I  declare  it  makes  me  provoked  to  think  of 
your  teaching  those  aggravating  little  boys  day  in 
and  day  out  for  an  independence,  and  then  not  get- 
ting yourself  a  bonnet  even.  It  was  only  Tuesday 
week  when  Deacon  Jones  told  me  that  there  was  n't 
a  girl  in  the  village  with  your  ability  —  that's  what 
he  said  —  and  everybody  with  eyes  knows  that 
there's  not  one  that  can  hold  a  candle  to  you  in 
looks,  if  you  're  not  so  stout  and  robust  as  Matilda 
Robinson.  If  it  was  n't  for  the  opening  of  the  fair 
I  would  n't  feel  so  bad,  but  to  see  all  the  fine  sum- 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  BONNET.        113 

mer  people  in  that  old  faded  white  thing,  with  the 
ribbon  worse  than  none,  why  —  " 

"  I  've  thought  how  I  can  fix  it  up  very  nicely, 
Aunt  Lizzie,"  interrupted  the  girl.  "And,  after 
all,  what 's  a  bonnet  ?  A  bonnet  is  not  every- 
thing." 

"  What 's  a  bonnet !  "  repeated  Miss  Elizabeth. 
"  A  bonnet  is  everything.  Don't  interrupt  me.  I 
have  n't  lived  in  Thornbridge  almost  half  a  century 
to  have  my  experience  go  for  nothing.  A  first-class 
stylish  bonnet  or  hat  on  a  woman's  head  is  the  next 
best  thing  to  a  crown  of  glory.  No  man  ever  yet 
realized  the  importance  of  a  bonnet.  A  man  wears 
a  hat  to  keep  his  head  warm  or  cool,  or  to  shade  his 
eyes,  and  he  hasn't  intelligence  enough  to  know 
that  a  woman  does  not  do  the  same.  What  sensible 
woman  ever  bought  a  bonnet  just  because  it  was 
warm,  or  cool,  or  shady?  What  she  wants  is  to 
have  it  become  her,  and  if  she  is  once  satisfied  that 
it  really  does,  she  '11  find,  and  her  friends  '11  find, 
that  she  will  wear  that  bonnet,  and  that  heat  and 
cold,  or  light  and  shade,  are  n't  the  consideration. 
And  so,"  concluded  Miss  Elizabeth,  after  pausing 
for  breath,  "  you  just  remember  that  the  bonnet  is 
first  as  well  as  topmost.  Get  on  a  first-class  bonnet, 
and  whether  you  are  in  Thornbridge,  or  sailing  up 
the  aisle  of  St.  Peter's  in  Rome,  you  can  look  the 
whole  world  in  the  face  and  wear  just  whatever 
kind  of  dress  you  like." 


114        THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A   BONNET. 

Delight  listened  with  great  enjoyment  to  her 
aunt's  earnest  discourse;  but  all  Miss  Elizabeth's 
eloquence  failed  to  alter  her  niece's  determination, 
and  the  following  morning  saw  her  depart  for 
school,  taking  with  her  the  necessary  money  to 
pay  for  their  last  barrel  of  flour. 

"  And  nothing  left  for  bonnets,"  mused  her  aunt, 
in  a  tone  of  resignation,  as  she  watched  Delight's 
trim  figure  disappear  down  the  road,  wearing  the 
neat  but  well-worn  black  gown,  which  had  been 
made  over  and  turned  until  even  Delight's  ingenuity 
had  reached  its  limit. 

After  finishing  the  morning's  work,  which  Miss 
Elizabeth  never  allowed  to  be  a  long  process,  she 
put  on  her  sun-bonnet,  and,  trowel  in  hand,  stepped 
out  into  the  garden  to  spend  an  hour  among  her 
flowers,  for  the  garden  was  her  chief  pride  and  joy. 
She  had  gone  only  a  few  steps  when  she  became 
aware  that  a  light  wagonette  was  stopping  at  the 
gate,  and  a  handsome,  athletic  young  fellow,  who 
had  reined  up  a  pair  of  spirited  grays,  jumped  lightly 
to  the  ground,  and  helped  two  elegantly  dressed 
ladies  to  alight.  He  remained,  inspecting  the 
horses,  while  they  advanced  up  the  path  toward 
Miss  Elizabeth,  who  at  once  put  them  down  on  the 
list  of  would-be  purchasers  of  her  land,  and  pre- 
pared to  meet  them  with  a  dignity  and  firmness 
v.-hich  should  do  credit  to  Delight's  admonitions. 
So  she  held  her  trowel  still  in  hand,  and  bowed 


THE   EVOLUTION  OF  A    BONNET.        11$ 

stiffly  from  the  depths  of  her  sun-bonnet  in  return 
to  their  cordial  salutation. 

Young  Mrs.  Boylston,  the  elder  of  the  two  visit- 
ors, did  most  of  the  talking.  "  This  is  Miss  Moore, 
I  believe,"  she  began,  condescendingly ;  "  at  least 
they  told  me  at  the  post-office  that  Miss  Moore 
lived  here." 

"Yes,  I  am  Miss  Moore,"  responded  Miss  Eliza- 
beth, shortly. 

"  You  certainly  have  a  most  charming  view  here, 
and  the  location  is  perfect.  I  suppose  the  view  of 
the  village  is  even  prettier  from  the  piazza,"  Mrs. 
Boylston  suggested. 

Miss  Elizabeth  remained  immovably  in  the  path. 
"  Yes,"  she  said,  dryly,  "  it  is  somewhat ;  but," 
she  added  briefly,  "  it 's  no  use  for  you  to  look  at  it, 
for  the  place  is  not  for  sale,  not  one  square  inch 
of  it." 

The  ladies  seemed  much  amused  at  this,  and 
Mrs.  Boylston  hastened  to  explain  that  they  did  not 
care  to  buy  any  land.  "  I  have  all  the  land  I  can 
manage  now,  Miss  Moore,  and  my  sister  and  I  are 
merely  driving  about  the  country  to  find  from  which 
of  the  high  points  the  view  is  prettiest,  and," 
she  added,  sweetly,  "  we  thought  that  perhaps  you 
would  ask  us  up  on  your  fine  breezy  piazza  for  a 
moment." 

Miss  Elizabeth  thawed  at  once,  and  endeavored 
to  atone  for  her  previous  incivility  by  bringing  the 


Il6        THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A   BONNET. 

most  comfortable  chairs  for  them  to  rest  upon,  and 
begging  that  they  would  make  themselves  at  home 
and  stay  as  long  as  they  chose.  "  I  would  ask  you 
in,"  she  added,  "  but  I  know  it 's  nicer  out  here  in 
the  breeze." 

"  We  should  like  to  take  a  peep  at  your  house  if 
you  're  willing,"  both  the  ladies  exclaimed,  and  Miss 
Elizabeth  led  the  way  into  the  cosy  sitting-room, 
which  they  inspected  with  apparent  interest.  "I 
see  you  have  one  of  those  old  clocks,  Miss  Moore," 
remarked  the  younger  lady,  advancing  towards  the 
tall  timepiece  in  the  corner.  "  I  don't  suppose 
you  care  much  for  an  old  clock  like  this.  I  would 
rather  like  to  take  one  back  to  remember  Thorn- 
bridge  by.  Don't  you  want  to  sell  it  to  me  ? " 

Miss  Elizabeth  bridled  up  at  once.  "  No,  I  don't 
think  of  putting  up  my  things  at  auction  just  yet ; 
and  as  for  relics,  you  will  have  to  look  for  them 
somewhere  else.  Moreover,  a  clock  that 's  in  first- 
class  condition,  and  keeps  the  best  of  time,  is  not 
much  of  a  relic  to  my  mind,  if  it  is  old." 

The  visitors,  beginning  to  realize  that  they 
would  hardly  reap  the  desired  harvest  here,  pre- 
pared to  withdraw,  after  thanking  Miss  Moore  for 
her  kindness.  Mrs.  Boylston,  however,  whose  eyes 
rested  lovingly  upon  the  heavy  brass  candlesticks, 
determined  to  make  one  final  effort  in  that 
direction. 

"I  wish  I  knew  where  I  could  buy  some  candle- 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  BONNET.        1 1/ 

sticks,"  she  exclaimed.  "We  have  such  trouble 
getting  our  rooms  lighted  up  here,  where  there  is 
no  gas.  I  don't  care  for  very  nice  ones;  almost 
anything  would  do,  such  as  those,  for  instance," 
pointing  to  the  ones  on  the  mantel.  "  Of  course  I 
know  that  you  would  not  part  with  those,"  she 
hastily  added,  seeing  Miss  Moore  preparing  to 
bridle,  "but  if  you  could  tell  me  where  to  go — " 
As  she  spoke,  Mrs.  Boylston  glanced  into  the  mirror 
over  the  fireplace  and  straightened  her  bonnet,  and 
at  that  moment  Miss  Elizabeth's  mood  changed  like 
a  flash.  She  would  sell  the  old  brass  candlesticks ; 
she  did  not  care  for  them,  and  she  did  n't  believe 
Delight  did ;  and  there  would  be  some  money  for 
the  new  bonnet. 

She  surprised  the  ladies  by  remarking,  "  Well,  I 
don't  know  as  I  care  so  much  for  the  candlesticks, 
but  it  is  quite  against  my  principles  to  sell  things. 
Still,  just  to  oblige  you,  I  might  be  willing  to  part 
with  them." 

Mrs.  Boylston's  eyes  brightened  with  pleasure, 
but  she  only  said,  in  a  careless  tone :  "  It  would 
save  me  a  good  deal  of  trouble  if  you  will  let  me 
have  them.  I  will  give  you  fifty  cents  for  the 
pair." 

"Very  well,  you  may  have  them,"  said  Miss 
Elizabeth,  stiffly,  already  regretting  that  she  had 
not  shown  them  the  door  instead  of  humiliating 
herself  to  this  extent.  She  had  thought  that  the 


Il8        THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  BONNET. 

candlesticks  would  be  worth  more  ;  but  she  was  no 
judge  of  their  value,  and  fifty  cents  would  hardly 
buy  Delight  the  sort  of  new  bonnet  she  desired. 
She  stepped  into  the  china  closet  to  get  a  piece  of 
paper  in  which  to  wrap  up  the  candlesticks,  when, 
looking  around,  she  saw  that  her  visitors  had 
followed,  and  were  remarking  that  her  old  blue 
china  just  matched  some  that  they  had.  Would  n't 
she  sell  those  two  platters  and  the  blue  and  white 
bowl  ?  She  would  give  a  dollar  for  each  platter  and 
fifty  cents  for  the  bowl.  Miss  Elizabeth  prepared 
to  be  indignant  and  to  reject  this  offer  with  scorn, 
but  instead  —  how  she  happened  to  do  so  she 
could  not  have  told,  except  that  the  idea  of  that 
bonnet  obliterated  all  others  —  she  found  herself  in 
possession  of  three  crisp  dollar  bills,  and  through 
the  window  she  caught  sight  of  the  handsome  young 
man  stowing  something  under  the  seat,  while  the 
ladies  talked  and  laughed  in  an  animated  way  that 
grated  terribly  upon  her  ears. 

Somehow  she  could  not  seem  to  settle  down 
again  to  her  work.  She  took  up  the  trowel  and 
tried  gardening,  but  only  for  a  few  moments,  then 
she  came  indoors  again  and  sat  down  in  her  high- 
backed  chair  and  rocked ;  sat  there  absolutely  idle, 
if  one  whose  thoughts  are  so  active  can  be  termed 
idle.  And  the  more  she  thought,  the  more  she 
became  convinced  that  Delight  would  not  be 
pleased  with  the  transaction.  Then  she  decided 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  BONNET.       1 19 

not  to  tell  her  where  the  money  had  come  from 
until  some  time  after  the  bonnet  had  been 
purchased. 

Delight  came  home  that  afternoon  in  unusual 
spirits,  and  Miss  Elizabeth  watched  at  the  doorway 
with  pride  and  satisfaction  as  she  approached  with 
glowing  cheeks  and  parted  lips,  which  disclosed 
two  rows  of  the  whitest  little  teeth. 

"Visitors  at  school  to-day,  Aunt  Lizzie,"  she 
began,  seating  herself  upon  the  steps,  "and  such 
interesting  ones,  too.  None  of  your  old  fogies  who 
insist  upon  making  the  boys  recite  something  that 
they  don't  know." 

"Tell  me  all  about  it,  dearie,"  said  her  aunt,  set- 
tling down  with  her  knitting,  and  beginning  to  won- 
der how  she  should  ever  bring  in  the  money  for  the 
bonnet  successfully. 

"Well,  you  see,  auntie,  they  arrived  just  a  few 
minutes  before  recess,  with  dear  old  Judge  Felton, 
who  always  has  been  so  kind  to  me;  two  beauti- 
fully dressed  ladies,  and,  oh,  such  a  very  handsome 
young  man !  The  judge  introduced  them  as  Mrs. 
Boylston,  her  sister,  Miss  Hollis,  and  her  brother- 
in-law,  Mr.  Harold  Boylston.  Judge  Felton  made 
some  embarrassing  remarks  about  my  being  his  pet 
school-marm,  and  I  realized  how  very  shabby  my 
old  black  dress  looked ;  but  they  were  most  agree- 
able, and  staid  and  talked  to  me  all  through  recess, 
after  which  they  drove  off  in  a  very  stylish  wagon- 


I2O        THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  BONNET. 

ette.  Mr.  Boylston  seemed  very  much  interested 
in  my  method  of  teaching  the  boys,  and  said  he 
should  like  to  come  up  again  some  day,  if  I  was 
willing." 

"  How  very  nice  of  him  ! "  remarked  Miss  Eliza- 
beth, dryly. 

"  Yes,"  continued  her  niece,  "  and  the  Boylstons 
are  the  people  who  have  built  that  lovely  new  house 
at  the  other  end  of  the  village,  where  we  saw  the 
tennis-courts  being  marked  out." 

Miss  Elizabeth  did  not  broach  the  bonnet  ques- 
tion that  evening,  but  decided  to  wait  until  a  more 
favorable  moment  arrived. 

The  following  afternoon  she  sat  down  with  her 
knitting  to  await  her  niece's  return,  and  she  had 
just  begun  to  wonder  if  Delight  were  not  later  than 
usual,  when  she  heard  voices,  and  one  of  them  was 
distinctly  masculine.  As  they  reached  the  gate,  she 
recognized  the  same  young  man  who  had  driven  the 
spirited  grays,  and  he  carried  her  niece's  books  with 
the  same  careless  ease  that  had  characterized  his 
management  of  the  horses.  He  lifted  his  hat  and 
departed,  and  Delight  smilingly  approached  her 
aunt.  "That  was  Mr.  Boylston,"  she  remarked. 

"  He  is  evidently  very  much  interested  in  your 
method  of  teaching,"  Miss  Elizabeth  said,  a  little 
impatiently. 

"Yes,  he  really  is  very  much  interested  in  the 
school  work,  and  he  says  that  he  thinks  of  teaching 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  BONNET.        121 

for  a  couple  of  terms,  just  for  the  practise,  now  that 
he  has  finished  college." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  her  aunt,  doubtfully.  Then  she  con- 
tinued, "  Do  you  realize  that  it  is  only  three  days 
before  the  fair,  and  you  have  n't  done  a  thing  about 
that  bonnet  ? " 

"  So  it  is,"  replied  Delight,  gravely,  preparing  to 
concentrate  her  whole  mind  upon  this  vital  subject ; 
"  but  I  had  a  bright  idea  to-day  while  the  boys  were 
doing  mental  arithmetic,  and  I  'm  sure  you  '11  think 
my  new  bonnet  a  success  when  you  see  it,  and  not 
a  cent  of  expense,  either." 

"  No,  dear ;  you  are  to  have  a  brand-new,  stylish 
bonnet,  and  it  shall  cost  something ;  and  here  is 
the  money  for  it,"  she  added,  drawing  the  three 
bills  triumphantly  out  of  her  pocket. 

"  Why,  Aunt  Lizzie,  where  did  that  come  from  ? " 
cried  her  niece,  in  surprise. 

"Never  mind;  the  fairies  are  around  sometimes, 
and  why  not  here  as  well  as  elsewhere  ? " 

But  no,  Delight  would  not  be  satisfied.  She 
would  not  use  the  money  till  she  knew  where  it 
came  from,  and,  little  by  little,  she  drew  the  truth 
from  her  unwilling  aunt.  And  then  it  was  that 
Miss  Elizabeth  began  to  realize  what  a  very  dread- 
ful thing  she  had  done.  How  could  she  for  an  in- 
stant suppose  that  Delight  would  use  a  cent  of  such 
money?  How  could  she  have  tolerated  even  the 
slightest  suggestion  of  such  a  transaction  ?  Had  n't 


122        THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  BONNET. 

she  a  particle  of  pride  left  ?  Oh,  it  was  too  humili- 
ating! and  Delight  burst  into  tears.  Miss  Eliza- 
beth was  in  the  depths  of  despair ;  she  had  thought 
that  she  was  doing  it  for  the  best,  but  she  saw  now 
that  it  was  a  great  mistake.  She  would  send  the 
money  back,  however ;  take  it  back  herself,  if  nec- 
essary ;  anything,  if  Delight  would  only  not  feel  so 
badly. 

Here  her  niece's  indignation  against  Mrs.  Boyl- 
ston  broke  forth :  "  To  think  of  entering  people's 
houses  on  false  pretenses,  for  the  purpose  of  cheat- 
ing them  out  of  a  few  things  which  they  did  not 
know  the  value  of.  Three  dollars,  indeed !  And 
that  young  Mr.  Boylston  was  with  them  at  the  time ; 
and  then  he  dared  to  walk  home  with  me  after  that 
—  up  to  the  very  gate !  Interested  in  school-teach- 
ing !  I  presume  he  wishes  to  have  as  much  fun 
out  of  the  natives  in  his  way  as  his  sister-in-law 
does  in  hers ;  but  he  will  find  that  his  amusement 
has  ceased  where  I  am  concerned." 

There  was  to  be  no  school  on  the  following  day, 
but  Delight  came  down  earlier  than  usual,  and  Miss 
Elizabeth  timidly  watched  her  determined  expres- 
sion and  decided  step  as  she  moved  about  the 
house,  seemingly  unconscious  of  her  aunt's  strenu- 
ous efforts  to  atone  for  her  unpardonable  offense 
by  preparing  as  many  of  her  favorite  dishes  as  pos- 
sible. Delight,  however,  exhibited  but  very  little 
appetite  for  breakfast,  but  noticing  the  expression 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A   BONNET.        12$ 

of  deep  gloom  settling  over  her  aunt's  face  when 
she  had  twice  refused  to  taste  the  delicately  browned 
waffles,  she  impulsively  threw  her  arms  about  Miss 
Elizabeth's  neck,  and,  kissing  her,  exclaimed : 

"Don't  you  worry  a  bit  more  about  anything, 
auntie.  I  am  the  most  ungrateful  girl  living,  and 
you  are  the  sweetest  and  most  unselfish  creature  in 
the  whole  world.  I  will  make  things  all  right,  and 
you  shall  see  me  in  a  bonnet  which  you  shall  be 
proud  of." 

The  breakfast  dishes  cleared  away,  Delight  set 
to  work  at  once  upon  the  old  and  well-worn  bonnet. 
It  was  a  light  straw,  trimmed  with  buff  ribbons, 
which  had  long  since  faded  into  a  doubtful  white. 
The  straw  was  still  in  very  good  condition,  although 
the  shape  was  sadly  out  of  style.  Miss  Eliza- 
beth eyed  it  mournfully,  but  Delight  set  to  work 
with  an  amount  of  assurance  which  could  not  but 
inspire  the  most  skeptical  with  confidence.  She 
soaked  the  old  straw  thoroughly  in  water,  and  then, 
taking  possession  of  the  brown  bread  mould,  shaped 
the  crown  skilfully  over  its  top,  and,  after  bending 
the  brim  of  the  bonnet  up  at  just  the  proper  angle, 
fastened  it  firmly  in  place  by  winding  string  about 
it  and  left  it  to  dry.  "  That  shape  will  be  just  the 
latest  agony,"  she  announced  to  Miss  Elizabeth. 
"  And  now  for  my  ribbon.  I  'm  going  to  dye  it 
cardinal." 

She  produced  a  small  package  of  red  powder, 


124        THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  BONNET. 

and,  after  dissolving  it  in  water,  plunged  in  all  the 
faded  buff  ribbon,  which  came  forth  a  beautiful 
shade  of  dark  red ;  and,  when  it  was  ironed  out, 
even  Miss  Elizabeth  acknowledged  that  it  could 
hardly  have  been  told  from  new.  "Though  it  is 
perhaps  a  trifle  stiff,"  she  added. 

"  Do  you  suppose  that  those  old  pink  roses  would 
take  the  color,  too  ? "  questioned  Delight,  a  moment 
later. 

To  which  her  aunt  replied,  "  We  can  see,"  and 
brought  them  down  forthwith. 

Delight  let  them  sink  deep  into  the  red  liquid, 
and  then  drew  them  carefully  out,  and  hung  them 
to  dry  near  the  stove.  They  really  looked  remark- 
ably well. 

By  this  time  the  straw  was  dry  and  pressed 
firmly  into  shape,  and  it  now  only  remained  to 
be  trimmed.  Here  Delight  showed  herself  mis- 
tress of  her  art,  for  her  bows  never  flopped  down 
when  they  should  have  stood  up,  nor  stuck  out 
where  they  should  have  gone  in,  and  she  caught 
up  the  red  roses  on  one  side  in  just  the  most  be- 
coming way,  showing  enough  to  let  you  know  that 
they  were  red  roses,  and  yet  not  too  much,  to  thrust 
upon  your  consciousness  the  fact  that  they  were  not 
perhaps  the  most  perfect  kind  of  roses. 

At  last  it  was  finished,  and  the  successful  artist 
tied  the  bow  under  her  chin,  and  stood  before  the 
old-fashioned  mirror  inspecting  her  morning's  work. 


THE   EVOLUTION  OF  A  BONNET.        12$ 

"  It  is  perfectly  lovely,"  Miss  Elizabeth  declared, 
with  enthusiasm,  "  and  I  should  think  it  had  come 
straight  from  Paris." 

After  dinner  Delight  arrayed  herself  in  her  best 
gown  (it  was  a  pale  gray  cashmere,  and  perfectly 
simple,  but  it  fitted  her  graceful  figure  without  a 
wrinkle),  and  then,  after  adjusting  the  new  bonnet, 
which  still  filled  her  aunt  with  awe  and  admiration, 
she  drew  on  her  silk  gloves,  and  prepared  to  start  out. 

Miss  Elizabeth  did  not  dare  to  ask  any  questions 
with  regard  to  her  mission,  but  she  did  venture  to 
call  after  her  in  a  frightened  tone,  "  Don't  do  any- 
thing that  you  may  be  sorry  for,  Delight." 

"  No,  Aunt  Lizzie,"  she  returned,  in  a  calm  voice, 
as  she  moved  slowly  down  the  walk,  stopping  only 
long  enough  to  put  one  dark -red  rose  into  her 
buttonhole. 

A  little  later  in  the  afternoon  Mrs.  Boylston  was 
languidly  reclining  in  a  hammock  on  the  airy 
upper  veranda  which  overlooked  the  wide  lawn, 
where  her  sister  and  young  Mr.  Boylston  had  been 
engaged  in  a  game  of  tennis,  for  which,  however, 
they  seemed  to  feel  very  little  enthusiasm,  as  they 
had  returned  to  the  upper  piazza.  Miss  Hollis  had 
dropped  into  a  steamer  chair,  and  young  Boylston 
was  sitting  upon  the  balustrade  deeply  intent  upon 
trying  to  balance  his  racquet  upon  one  finger.  At 
this  moment  a  servant  appeared,  bringing  word  that 
Miss  Moore  would  like  to  see  Mrs.  Boylston. 


126        THE   EVOLUTION  OF  A  BONNET. 

"Miss  Moore?"  queried  the  lady.  "Who  can 
she  be?  Well,  ask  her  to  come  up  here.  Why, 
she  must  be  the  woman  who  sold  me  the  candle- 
sticks and  those  fascinating  platters,"  she  continued. 
"  I  saw  a  platter  like  them  in  town  not  long  ago, 
and  the  man  at  the  shop  asked  me  seven  dollars  for 
it,  and  I  got  mine  for  a  dollar  apiece,  Harold." 

"  By  George  !  "  exclaimed  her  brother  -  in  -  law, 
jumping  up,  "  I  call  that  a  most  shameful  business, 
cheating  country  people  out  of  their  few  household 
gods  ?  To  my  mind,  it 's  the  smallest  kind  of 
swindling  when  the  rich  cheat  the  poor,  and  I 
should  n't  think  you  would  be  overproud  of  the 
transaction." 

The  conversation  was  suddenly  arrested  by  the 
arrival  of  Miss  Moore  upon  the  scene.  It  was  a 
trying  ordeal  for  her,  but  she  boldly  faced  the 
enemy's  guns,  and,  with  sparkling  eyes  and  head 
erect,  advanced  without  flinching.  Both  the  ladies 
rose,  and  greeted  her  with  a  cool  friendliness  which 
hardly  disguised  their  evident  surprise  at  receiving 
a  call  from  the  pretty  schoolmistress.  Harold 
Boylston's  pleasure  was  quite  evident,  and  he 
brought  forward  a  large  arm-chair,  saying,  "  Won't 
you  sit  here,  Miss  Moore  ? " 

But  Delight  remained  standing.  "I  wished  to 
see  you  only  for  a  moment,  Mrs.  Boylston,"  she 
began,  in  a  clear  voice,  "to  return  some  money 
which  my  aunt  received  from  you  the  other  day. 


THE   EVOLUTION  OF  A  BONNET.        12? 

We  are  not  in  the  habit  of  parting  with  our  house- 
hold possessions,  which  we  value  rather  for  their 
family  associations  than  for  their  actual  worth,  which 
you  doubtless  appreciate  better  than  we."  Mrs. 
Boylston  winced.  "  Pray  accept  the  platters  and 
the  candlesticks,"  she  continued,  "if  they  please 
you,  as  it  is  a  great  pleasure  for  simple  country 
people  like  ourselves  to  contribute  in  any  way 
toward  the  happiness  or  amusement "  (here  her 
eyes  rested  coldly  upon  Harold)  "of  those  who, 
like  yourself,  can  so  easily  gratify  every  wish.  We 
are  only  too  glad  to  give  them  to  you,  Mrs.  Boyl- 
ston. Good  afternoon,"  and,  thrusting  the  three 
dollars  into  that  offended  lady's  hand,  Miss  Moore 
swept  from  the  piazza  with  the  scornful  air  of  a 
princess. 

"  Is  n't  she  just  superb  ? "  exclaimed  young  Boyl- 
ston, warmly.  "  She  crushed  you  completely,  Nelly, 
and  —  " 

"  To  think  of  an  ignorant  country  girl  like  that 
daring  to  confront  me  with  such  impudence  ! "  cried 
Mrs.  Boylston,  angrily. 

"You  didn't  get  half  you  deserved,"  rejoined 
Harold,  swinging  himself  over  the  railing,  with 
asperity.  I  wish  she  had  told  you  what  she  really 
thought  of  you.  If  that  is  your  idea  of  an  ignorant 
country  girl,  it 's  not  mine ;  and  as  for  style,  why, 
there  was  an  atmosphere  about  that  bonnet  which 
few  of  your  New  Yorkers  could  rival.  I  'm  off  for 


128        THE   EVOLUTION  OF  A  BONNET. 

a   constitutional,  ladies,    so   you   can    fight   it   out 
between  you." 

As  he  disappeared  across  the  lawn,  Mrs.  Boylston 
sank  back  into  her  hammock  with  a  sigh.  "  I  do  so 
hate  scenes,"  she  murmured;  "and  Harold  of  late 
seems  to  take  pleasure  in  saying  unkind,  cutting 
things  to  me.  I  'm  sure  I  have  never  objected  to 
his  flirting  with  any  number  of  country  girls,  and 
I  don't  know  why  he  should  be  so  ugly  about  a  few 
old  candlesticks.  But  I  shall  have  those  things  sent 
right  back  this  very  evening.  After  that  girl's  absurd 
conduct,  I  would  not  have  them  in  the  house  another 
night." 

Meanwhile  Delight  was  walking  briskly  along  the 
shady  lane.  She  felt  that  she  had  passed  through 
the  trying  ordeal  with  success ;  perhaps  her  display 
of  pride  and  spirit  had  made  her  appear  ridiculous, 
and  even  now  they  were  probably  laughing  at  her ; 
but  she  did  not  care.  They  might  laugh  on  the 
surface,  but  they  knew  down  in  their  hearts  that  she 
had  had  the  best  of  the  encounter ;  and  Mr.  Boyl- 
ston had  really  looked  quite  as  if  he  thought  so,  too. 
How  becoming  a  tennis  suit  was  to  him ! 

Just  at  this  point  she  arrived  at  the  cross-roads, 
where,  much  to  her  amazement,  she  encountered 
that  very  individual  turning  the  corner  with  a  calm 
and  unruffled  demeanor,  which  told  no  tales  of  his 
brisk  run  across  the  fields.  Delight,  however,  re- 


THE   EVOLUTION  OF  A  BONNET.        1 29 

sented  his  assured  air,  and  showed  none  of  the  sur- 
prise which  she  felt  at  his  sudden  appearance,  but 
regarded  him  with  perfect  indifference. 

"  Are  you  provoked  with  me,  too  ? "  he  inquired, 
in  an  injured  tone.  "  I  declare,  I  am  so  afraid  of 
you  that  the  power  of  speech  has  quite  deserted  me 
after  the  magnificent  way  in  which  you  sailed  into 
Mrs.  Boylston  just  now.  I  'm  not  sure  that  you  will 
have  anything  to  say  to  me,  though  I  can't  see  why 
I  am  responsible  for  people  who  are  only  my  con- 
nections by  marriage.  Please  may  I  walk  home 
with  you,  Miss  Moore  ?  " 

Delight,  who  had  determined  upon  her  course  of 
action,  replied  ironically  that  she  was  glad  to  see 
that  fright  had  not  robbed  him  of  the  use  of  his 
legs  as  well  as  of  his  tongue,  but  that  it  would  be 
quite  unnecessary  for  him  to  go  any  farther  in  that 
direction. 

"I  am  glad  of  that,"  he  responded,  gayly.  "I 
hate  to  do  necessary  things,  and  I  know  you  do, 
only  you  won't  acknowledge  it.  When  I  walk  with 
a  pretty  girl  I  do  it  not  because  it  is  necessary,  but 
because  it  is  agreeable." 

"  Agreeable  to  whom  ?  "  interrupted  Delight. 

"  To  both  of  us,"  replied  Boylston,  looking  into 
her  eyes  with  one  of  his  most  irresistible  glances. 

"Speak  for  yourself,"  replied  his  companion, 
coolly. 

"  That 's  a  very  dangerous  remark  to  make  to  any 


I3O        THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A   BONNET. 

impetuous  young  fellow,"  responded  he,  medita- 
tively; "it  played  the  dickens  with  poor  John 
Alden,  you  know,  and  left  Miles  Standish  disconso- 
late." 

"  It  is  certainly  a  rather  superfluous  remark  to 
make  to  you,  Mr.  Boylston,"  said  Delight,  who  found 
it  most  difficult  to  remain  stern  and  unbending. 

Boylston  decided  to  try  a  different  tack,  so  he 
stopped  suddenly,  and  lifting  his  hat  said,  gravely : 
"  If  my  company  is  really  distasteful  to  you,  Miss 
Moore,  I  will  not  thrust  it  upon  you  any  longer,  but 
will  bid  you  good-afternoon." 

"Good-afternoon,"  responded  Delight,  sweetly, 
continuing  to  walk  rapidly  away  from  him,  and  with- 
out a  glance  in  his  direction. 

This  was  not  satisfactory,  however,  and  Harold 
Boylston  started  at  once  after  the  departing  figure. 
"  On  second  thoughts,"  he  said,  reaching  her  side, 
"  I  think  I  won't  say  good-afternoon  just  yet." 

"  Second  thoughts  are  not  always  the  best,"  re- 
plied Delight,  greeting  his  sudden  reappearance  with 
perfect  indifference. 

"  I  don't  care  about  their  being  so  always ;  it  is 
enough  satisfaction  to  have  them  best  just  now," 
said  Boylston,  who  saw  with  much  pleasure  that  a 
reassuring  twinkle  was  beginning  to  manifest  itself 
in  his  companion's  eyes. 

"  It  is  no  use,"  she  laughed,  "  I  really  can't  be 
provoked  with  you,  you  're  so  absurd." 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A   BONNET.        131 

•'  I  don't  know  why  you  should  be  provoked  with 
me,"  Boylston  protested,  with  an  air  of  injured  inno- 
cence. "  I  have  n't  done  anything  worse  than  to  tell 
my  sister-in-law  what  I  thought  of  her  little  bric-a- 
brac  transactions,  in  not  the  most  complimentary 
terms,  either.  Why  did  n't  your  aunt  snub  her,  as 
she  deserved,  on  the  spot  ?  I  do  not  see  how  she 
came  to  let  my  worthy  connections  indulge  in  their 
favorite  pastime.  I  'm  afraid  she  has  not  your 
spirit.  I  wish  you  had  been  there  to  give  them  a 
piece  of  your  mind."  There  was  such  an  unmis- 
takable ring  of  sincerity  in  his  voice  that  Delight 
could  not  but  relent,  and  then,  as  Aunt  Elizabeth 
must  be  vindicated,  she  told  him  all  about  the 
bonnet. 

"  It  is  a  perfect  stunner,"  cried  Boylston,  enthusi- 
astically, regarding  her  with  undisguised  admira- 
tion. 

"  Only  my  fingers  are  rather  pink  still,"  said  De- 
light, drawing  off  one  of  her  silk  gloves  and  eyeing 
her  finger-tips  ruefully.  "  But,"  she  continued,"! 
was  very  cross  to  Aunt  Elizabeth  when  I  came  home 
and  found  out  what  she  had  done.  I  was  just  hor- 
rid, but  you  can't  think  how  humiliated  I  felt." 

"Yes,  I  can,"  broke  in  Boylston,  warmly.  "I 
know  just  how  you  felt ;  you  hated  us  all,  and  knew 
that  I  was  just  as  bad  as  the  rest,  only  worse." 

"  Yes,"  assented  Delight,  frankly,  "  I  thought  a 
great  many  unpleasant  things  about  you,  and  said 


132        THE   EVOLUTION  OF  A   BONNET. 

that  I  did  not  care  to  amuse  the  summer  residents 
in  company  with  old  clocks  and  candlesticks." 

"  I  '11  renounce  my  claims  to  being  a  summer 
resident  and  become  a  native,  if  you  '11  only  restore 
me  to  favor  and  be  friends,"  he  protested. 

By  the  time  Miss  Moore's  gate  had  been  reached 
this  request  had  evidently  been  granted,  and  Miss 
Elizabeth,  who  had  been  anxiously  awaiting  her 
niece's  return,  was  much  astonished  to  see  her  come 
back  quite  on  the  best  of  terms  with  that  very  same 
not-to-be-tolerated  young  man. 

She  showed  no  surprise,  however,  when  Delight 
introduced  Mr.  Boylston,  but  invited  him  to  come  in 
and  rest  awhile  after  his  walk,  which  he  did  without 
waiting  for  further  urging,  and  spent  a  good  long 
hour.  His  last  words  before  taking  leave  were  :  "  I 
shall  be  on  the  lookout  for  that  lovely  red  bonnet  at 
the  fair  to-morrow." 

When  he  had  gone,  Miss  Elizabeth  listened  with 
great  interest  to  the  afternoon's  proceedings.  At 
the  end  of  the  recital  she  drew  a  long  sigh  of  relief. 
"  But  it  does  n't  seem  as  though  you  snubbed  the 
young  man  much,"  she  finally  remarked. 

"  I  tried  my  best,  Aunt  Lizzie,  but  he  would  n't 
be  snubbed,"  said  Delight,  thoughtfully. 

That  night  Mrs.  Boylston's  man  brought  up  a 
bundle  addressed  to  Miss  Moore,  which,  when 
opened,  was  found  to  contain  two  platters,  a  blue 
and  white  bowl,  and  a  pair  of  brass  candlesticks. 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A   BONNET.        133 

Harold  Boylston  had  promised  to  escort  the 
ladies  to  the  agricultural  fair,  and  they  insisted 
upon  his  being  in  constant  attendance  upon  them, 
and  upon  his  telling  them  all  about  the  horses,  the 
cows,  and  the  sheep.  Miss  Hollis  made  him  ask 
first  how  many  inches  the  prize  squash  measured, 
and  then  how  much  the  largest  bunch  of  grapes 
weighed,  while  Mrs.  Boylston  sent  him  to  inquire  if 
she  could  buy  any  of  the  prize  apples  afterwards, 
until  his  much-tried  patience  quite  gave  way.  For, 
in  the  distance,  he  saw  Delight's  red  bonnet,  now 
pausing  beside  the  fancy  sheep,  while  he  must  needs 
examine  squashes,  and  then  inspecting  the  prize 
bantams,  while  his  sister-in-law  dragged  him  over 
to  look  at  a  kind  of  lawn-mower  that  would  roll  the 
grass  in  the  most  approved  style.  Morever,  his 
interest  in  lawn  -  mowers  was  not  increased  by  his 
knowledge  of  the  fact  that  his  own  classmate, 
Charlie  Felton,  who  had  proved  to  be  old  Judge 
Felton's  nephew,  was  by  Delight's  side,  and  acted 
as  though  he  expected  to  remain  there  for  the  rest 
of  the  day. 

He  suddenly  slipped  away,  just  as  Mrs.  Boylston 
was  looking  at  the  Plymouth  Rock  hens,  and 
hastened  towards  the  fascinating  red  bonnet.  De- 
light seemed  very  glad  to  see  him,  and  Felton 
greeted  him  with  evident  surprise. 

"  Why,  where  did  you  come  from,  Boylston  ? " 

"  I  'm  so  glad  to  see  you,  Charlie,  and  my  sister 


134        THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A   BONNET. 

and  Miss  Hollis  are  dying  to  speak  to  you.  Don't 
you  see  them  over  there  ?  I  '11  take  care  of  Miss 
Moore  while  you  run  over  and  say  how  d  'ye  do." 

"I  should  be  charmed  to  see  them  again,  of 
course,"  exclaimed  Felton,  whose  countenance,  how- 
ever, failed  to  express  the  greatest  pleasure  at  the 
immediate  prospect ;  "  but  I  have  promised  to 
show  Miss  Moore  some  of  my  uncle's  prize  apples 
first,  so  I  '11  see  you  a  little  later,"  and  Felton  pre- 
pared to  move  on. 

His  friend  was  not  to  be  thus  easily  baffled. 
"  I  'm  going  to  show  Miss  Moore  the  giant  turnips," 
he  persisted,  "while  you  just  speak  to  my  sister. 
See,  she 's  is  waving  her  parasol  now." 

There  was  nothing  for  Felton  to  do  but  to  go, 
and  his  friend  smiled  with  satisfaction  at  his  re- 
luctant departure.  "  Suppose  we  walk  down  to  the 
end  of  the  grove,  where  there  is  n't  such  a  crowd, 
and  where  we  can  cool  off,"  he  suggested. 

"  But  you  were  going  to  take  me  to  see  the  giant 
turnips,"  protested  Delight ;  "  and,  besides,  if  we  go 
off  there,  Mr.  Felton  will  never  find  us." 
.  "  I  don't  intend  that  he  shall,"  was  Boylston's 
mental  comment,  but  he  only  said :  "  Oh,  I  don't 
think  he  will  have  any  difficulty.  You  don't  sup- 
pose that  I  really  wanted  to  show  you  giant  turnips, 
do  you  ?  I  hate  such  things.  It  is  bad  enough  for 
such  unpalatable  substances  as  turnips  to  exist 
without  their  having  the  effrontery  to  grow  to  any 


THE   EVOLUTION  OF  A    BONNET.        135 

such  unwieldy  size.  I  was  only  trying  to  offset 
Felton's  apples.  But  if  you're  so  interested  in 
those  monstrosities,  we  will  go  up  into  that  hot 
place  and  look  at  them." 

As  Delight  expressed  no  great  desire  to  do  so, 
they  strolled  down  through  the  grove  which  led  out 
of  the  grounds,  and  Boylston  espied  an  inviting 
rustic  bench,  on  which  they  might  rest  in  the  shade 
of  the  tall  pines. 

Felton,  meanwhile,  had  been  cordially  welcomed 
by  Mrs.  Boylston  and  her  sister,  who  at  once  appro- 
priated him  in  a  manner  he  hardly  relished.  Harold 
had  disappeared,  and  he  saw  no  means  of  escape, 
so  he  asked  the  ladies  to  come  up  and  look  at  the 
prize  turnips,  where  he  hoped  to  encounter  that 
deceitful  individual. 

Harold,  however,  was  not  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
turnips.  About  this  time,  Mrs.  Boylston  casually 
remarked,  "I  wonder  what  has  become  of  Harold," 
and  Felton  at  once  rose  to  the  emergency. 

"  He  is  probably  having  hard  work  to  find  us  in 
this  crowd.  Now,  if  you  ladies  will  take  a  seat  on 
that  bench,  I  will  look  him  up." 

"Oh,  no  matter,  Mr.  Felton,"  they  exclaimed, 
reassuringly,  "don't  trouble  yourself  about  him." 
They  were  both  more  than  satisfied  with  his  society. 

"  It  is  no  trouble  at  all,"  he  hastened  to  assure 
them.  "  I  will  find  him  in  just  one  moment,"  and 
he  dashed  off  into  the  yard. 


136        THE   EVOLUTION  OF  A   BONNET. 

"  What  a  handsome  fellow  he  is ! "  commented 
Mrs.  Boylston ;  "  and  so  very  obliging  and  energetic. 
Now  Harold  is  so  lazy." 

"  He  is  too  obliging,"  Miss  Hollis  rejoined.  "  He 
need  not  have  been  so  anxious  to  find  Harold ;  it 
was  just  an  excuse  to  get  away.  I  don't  see  why 
you  wanted  to  see  Harold,  when  we  have  had  so 
much  of  his  society,  and  I  'm  sure  he  was  grumpy 
enough  when  I  asked  him  about  those  ugly  little 
pigs  with  their  tails  all  out  of  curl.  You  see  if 
Mr.  Felton  comes  back  with  Harold,  that's  all. 
What  uncomfortable  seats  these  are.  I  wish  the 
man  who  made  them  had  to  sit  in  them  for  the  rest 
of  his  life." 

"  There  would  n't  be  much  rest  of  his  life  if  he 
did,"  replied  her  sister. 

"  Don't,"  faintly  murmured  Miss  Hollis.  "  How 
can  you  joke  in  this  hot,  wretched  place  ? " 

During  this  time,  Felton,  who  had  reached  the 
yard,  was  pausing  a  moment  to  think.  "  I  might 
have  known  Boylston  would  skip  off  and  leave  me 
for  the  rest  of  the  day,  but  I  '11  get  even  with  him 
on  the  monopolizing  business.  He  is  probably 
down  in  the  grove."  So  saying,  Felton  hastened 
in  that  direction,  and  was  soon  rewarded  by  a 
glimpse  of  the  most  attractive  red  bonnet  not  far 
away. 

"  Now  I  call  this  true  enjoyment,"  Boylston  was 
just  saying.  "  This  is  my  first  experience  of  agri- 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A   BONNET.        137 

cultural  fairs,  and  I  think  they  are  the  best  fun  in 
the  world." 

At  this  point  a  most  unwelcome  voice  inter- 
rupted. 

"  So  this  is  the  way  you  show  Miss  Moore  prize 
turnips,  is  it  ?  Boylston,  you  are  a  man  of  excellent 
taste." 

"  That 's  why  I  let  the  turnips  alone,"  responded 
Harold. 

"  It  is  perfect  up  here  in  the  shade,"  continued 
Felton,  "  and  I  'm  sorry  to  break  up  your  tite-a-tete, 
but  your  sister  sent  me  after  you,  and  she  wants 
you  immediately.  I  told  her  I  would  send  you  back 
at  once.  You  will  find  her  up  there  by  those  tur- 
nips you  spoke  of." 

Harold  Boylston  rose  reluctantly.  "  Suppose  we 
all  go  up  together  to  see  those  apples,  Felton  ? 
Won't  you  come  up,  Miss  Moore  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  think  I  will  cool  off  a  little  longer,"  said 
Delight,  glancing  mischievously  at  Felton,  who  had 
dropped  into  Boylston's  seat.  "And  remember 
that  your  sister  is  waiting  for  you." 

Boylston  strode  off,  leaving  the  field  and  the 
rustic  bench  in  possession  of  his  friend,  who  took 
no  pains  to  conceal  his  pleasure. 

Mrs.  Boylston  and  Miss  Hollis  saw  him  approach 
through  the  crowd.  "  Here  we  have  been  sitting 
alone  on  this  board  for  a  perfect  age,"  they  both 
cried.  "  What  have  you  done  with  Mr.  Felton  ?  " 


138        THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A   BONNET. 

"  What  did  you  send  him  after  me  for  ?  Could  n't 
you  do  without  me  for  a  few  minutes?  Felton 
knows  a  sight  more  about  pigs  and  turnips  than  I 
do.  I  did  my  part  hunting  up  an  interesting  man 
for  you,  and  it 's  not  my  fault  if  you  can't  hold  on  to 
him  for  five  minutes.  I  could  n't  very  well  chain 
him  up  for  you." 

"  I  did  n't  send  him  for  you,  Harold.  I  just  said 
I  wondered  what  had  become  of  you,  and  off  he 
rushed ;  but  I  supposed,  of  course,  he  would  come 
back." 

"  I  told  you  he  would  n't,"  put  in  her  sister. 
"  And  now,  Harold,  please  find  the  wagonette  and 
drive  us  home.  I  am  tired  to  death  of  animals  and 
vegetables,  and  I  think  agricultural  fairs  are  per- 
fectly horrid.  I  have  been  once  to  see  what  they 
are  like,  and  now  that  I  know,  I  shall  never  come 
again." 

Harold  found  the  horses  without  a  word,  and 
drove  them  home  in  solemn  silence.  Mrs.  Boylston 
was  most  enthusiastic  about  the  lovely  view  as  they 
drove  along,  but  he  was  only  conscious  that  he  had 
left  Felton  in  possession  of  the  rustic  seat  and  the 
bewitching  owner  of  the  red  bonnet. 

Felton  had  always  spent  his  vacations  with  his 
uncle  in  Thornbridge,  and  he  and  Delight  were  old 
friends.  This  time  he  had  only  run  down  for  two 
or  three  days,  and  Boylston  learned  with  pleasure 
the  following  day  that  he  had  gone  back  to  town. 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A   BONNET.        139 

During  the  weeks  which  followed,  Boylston  be- 
came what  Miss  Elizabeth  termed  "steady  com- 
pany." He  and  Delight  were  the  best  of  friends, 
and  as  her  vacation  had  begun,  he  had  ample  chance 
to  indulge  in  ideal  drives,  walks,  and  talks.  But 
the  best  of  friends  must  part,  and  the  brightest  days 
will  end,  and  Harold's  good  times  were  brought  to 
a  close  by  a  telegram  from  his  father,  which  an- 
nounced that  his  immediate  presence  in  town  was 
both  desirable  and  necessary.  He  had  really  for- 
gotten during  the  last  few  weeks  that  there  were 
such  words  as  time  or  town.  Now  he  suddenly 
realized  how  very  pleasant  it  had  all  been,  and  how 
he  should  miss  Delight's  dark  eyes  and  enchanting 
smile.  He  tried  to  persuade  himself,  however,  that 
it  was  all  a  fleeting  summer  episode.  He  should 
not  think  so  much  about  Delight  when  he  was  once 
in  town,  and  she  —  she  would  forget  him,  of  course, 
very  soon.  Would  she  ?  This  last  thought  did  not 
give  him  the  satisfaction  that  he  had  expected  to 
derive  from  it.  He  decided  to  take  the  evening 
train  up  to  the  city,  and  in  the  afternoon  he  went 
up  and  bade  Delight  and  Miss  Elizabeth  good-by. 
Delight  took  his  announcement  with  a  calmness 
which  did  not  please  him  as  it  should  have  done, 
and  she  was  provokingly  silent  while  Miss  Elizabeth 
protested  how  much  they  should  miss  him.  He  had 
determined  to  leave  in  the  highest  of  spirits,  in 
which  they  were  to  share ;  but  his  efforts  did  not 


140        THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A    BONNET. 

seem  to  be  crowned  with  success,  and  his  jokes 
failed  to  call  forth  any  response  from  Delight's 
abstracted  gaze.  At  last  he  rose  to  go. 

"  I  shall  look  for  a  continuation  of  my  good  times 
next  summer,  Miss  Moore,"  he  said,  shaking  hands 
with  Delight. 

"Good-by,  Mr.  Boylston.  We  shall  always  be 
glad  to  see  you,"  she  replied,  quietly,  steadily  re- 
turning his  searching  look.  And  Boylston,  lifting 
his  hat,  walked  rapidly  down  through  the  long  rows 
of  hollyhocks,  which  he  fancied  closed  behind  him, 
shutting  him  out  from  all  that  was  best  and  most 
beautiful. 

His  sister  was  not  going  back  to  town  until  the 
following  week.  Having  packed  his  valise  and 
swallowed  a  hasty  supper,  he  set  out  for  the  station, 
after  refusing  the  ladies'  offer  to  drive  him  down  to 
the  train,  as  he  hoped  that  the  walk  would  make 
him  feel  better.  By  the  time  he  reached  the  station, 
however,  he  felt  much  worse.  If  Delight  had  cared 
anything  for  him  she  could  not  have  said  good-by 
so  calmly.  Would  she  forget  him  as  soon,  as  he 
had  gone  ?  He  knew  that  he  could  not  forget  her 
for  one  moment,  nor  could  he  deceive  himself  longer 
on  that  score.  He  loved  her,  and  always  should  love 
her,  not  less  as  time  went  on,  but  more  and  more. 
How  unfeeling  he  had  been  to  leave  without  a  word ! 
He  deserved  her  utmost  scorn. 

While  he  stood  waiting  for  the  down -train,  the 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A   BONNET. 

train  from  the  city  came  in,  and  he  caught  sight 
of  Felton  alighting  with  bag,  fishing-tackle,  and 
tennis -racquet.  He  had  come  down  for  his  vaca- 
tion. 

"  How  d  'ye  do,  Boylston  ? "  he  called  out,  cheer- 
fully. "  So  you  're  off  on  the  eight  o'clock  train, 
are  you  ? " 

Boylston's  feelings  underwent  a  sudden  change. 
A  wild  jealousy  took  possession  of  him,  and  with  it 
came  a  sudden  determination.  The  eight  o'clock 
train  was  rapidly  coming  into  sight. 

"  I  say,  Felton,"  he  cried,  grasping  him  by  the 
hand. 

"  What  is  it  ? "  demanded  Felton. 

"  Go  up  and  spend  the  evening  with  my  worthy 
relatives.  I  had  to  rush  off  quite  suddenly,  and 
I  fancy  that  they  are  rather  upset.  I  '11  be  ever- 
lastingly grateful  if  you'll  go  there  to-night, 
Charlie." 

Felton  hesitated.  He  had  meant  to  stroll  over  to 
the  Moore's,  but  he  would  have  the  field  there  to 
himself,  now  that  Boylston  had  gone,  so  he  promised, 
and  departed. 

Harold  entered  the  station,  and  deposited  his  bag 
in  the  waiting-room.  When  he  emerged  upon  the 
platform  again,  the  last  car  of  the  down-train  was 
just  disappearing  from  view. 

"  Lost  your  train,  Mr.  Boylston  ? "  queried  the 
station-master. 


142        THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A    BONNET. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  calmly.  "There  is  nothing 
now  till  the  midnight  train,  is  there  ? " 

Delight  was  sitting  on  her  favorite  step,  with  her 
head  resting  among  the  honeysuckles.  She  had  just 
returned  from  a  walk  to  a  neighbor's,  where  she  and 
Miss  Elizabeth  had  been  invited  to  tea.  She  had 
pleaded  a  headache,  and  had  come  home,  leaving 
her  aunt  to  enjoy  herself  with  the  others. 

The  moon  was  slowly  rising  above  the  hills,  but 
Delight  was  quite  unconscious  of  the  fact.  Two 
large  tears  were  rolling  down  her  cheeks,  as  she  sat 
there,  silent  and  motionless.  In  her  hand  she  held 
her  red  bonnet,  which  she  had  taken  off ;  she  looked 
at  it,  scornfully,  and  at  last  tossed  it  impatiently  on 
to  the  step  by  her  side,  and  buried  her  face  in  the 
honeysuckles. 

Can  Aunt  Lizzie  have  returned  so  soon  ?  She 
must  not  find  her  crying. 

"  Good-evening,  Miss  Moore,"  said  an  unmistak- 
able voice. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Boylston,  where  did  you  come  from  ? " 
she  said,  faintly,  sinking  back  into  the  depths  of  the 
vines. 

"  From  the  station,  to  be  sure.  I  lost  the  eight 
o'clock  train,  you  see,"  he  added,  "  so  I  thought  I 
would  come  up  and  say  good-by  over  again." 

"Was  the  first  good-by  so  pleasant  that  you 
wanted  a  repetition  ?  "  she  murmured. 

"  No,  it  was  not,"  he  exclaimed,  quite  fiercely,  sit- 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A   BONNET.        143 

ting  down  on  the  step  beside  her,  but  he  rose  again, 
immediately.  "  What  is  this  ? "  he  cried,  producing 
a  much-flattened  object. 

"  My  bonnet,"  she  responded,  beginning  to  laugh. 

"  Oh,  I  'm  so  sorry,"  he  said,  holding  it  up,  and 
regarding  it  ruefully.  "  That  lovely  bonnet !  " 

"It's  no  matter,"  laughed  Delight;  "for  I  had 
decided  to  indulge  in  a  new  one." 

Boylston  still  held  it  up  mournfully.  "There 
can  never  be  another  as  pretty  or  as  interesting. 
You  may  get  a  very  beautiful  one,  but  you  can  never 
have  another  bonnet  like  this.  I  shall  never  feel 
the  same  toward  any  other  bonnet.  Delight,"  he 
cried,  impetuously,  "  have  you  been  crying  ?  You 
were  just  a  little  sorry  to  have  me  go  ?  I  could  not 
go  until  I  had  made  sure  of  that.  Dearest,  I  love 
you.  Will  you  be  my  wife  ?  " 

When  Miss  Elizabeth  returned,  later  in  the  even- 
ing, she  was  more  than  astonished  to  find  that  the 
recently  departed  Boylston  was  not  on  his  way  to 
the  city,  and  that  Delight's  headache  was  completely 
cured. 

And  Felton,  true  to  his  word,  spent  a  long  and 
quiet  evening  with  Mrs.  Boylston  and  her  sister, 
after  assuring  them  that  he  had  left  Harold  just 
boarding  the  eight  o'clock  train.  It  was  a  great 
satisfaction  to  him  to  feel  that  his  friend  was  safely 
back  in  town. 


144        THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A   BONNET. 

And  Harold  Boylston  thought  kindly  of  Felton  as 
he  stepped  aboard  the  midnight  train.  "  I  never 
appreciated,  before,"  he  said  to  himself,  "what  a 
first-rate  fellow  Felton  is." 


MRS.   HUDSON'S    PICNIC 


MRS.   HUDSON'S  PICNIC 


MRS.  HUDSON  especially  disliked  picnics,  and 
never  went  on  them  if  she  could  possibly  help 
doing  so,  but  in  this  instance,  circumstances  over 
which,  at  best,  she  had  very  little  control  decidedly 
got  the  upper  hand  of  her  and  forced  her  to  submit 
gracefully. 

Circumstances,  in  the  guise  of  a  dozen  or  more 
young  people,  attacked  her  on  every  side  —  in  the 
breakfast-room,  on  the  hotel  piazza,  and  even  in  the 
seclusion  of  her  own  apartment,  to  which  she  fled  in 
vain  for  refuge.  Here  the  enemy  tapped  aggres- 
sively, and  entered  triumphantly,  to  seat  themselves 
upon  her  trunks  and  continue  their  persuasions  ; 
they  said  that  none  of  the  mothers  would  go  on  a 
picnic  up  the  river  with  them,  but  that  she  was  so 
lovely  they  knew  she  would  n't  refuse ;  moreover, 
they  added  that  all  the  girls  in  the  hotel  adored  her, 
and  the  young  men  had  been  heard  to  declare  that 
she  was  "  perfectly  fine."  They  concluded  by  say- 
ing that  they  would  rather  have  her  than  any  one 
else,  for  everything  depended  upon  the  chaperon ; 


148  MRS.   HUDSON'S  PICNIC. 

there  were  plenty  of  stupid  people  that  they  could 
get  if  they  wished  to,  but  they  wanted  somebody 
bright  and  interesting,  like  herself. 

When  Mrs.  Hudson  crossed  the  parlor,  two  or 
three  sweet  young  girls  twined  their  arms  about 
her,  and  if  she  stepped  into  the  office  for  a  moment, 
a  couple  of  young  fellows  joined  her  and  hung  upon 
her  casual  remarks  with  breathless  interest. 

In  short,  there  was  nothing  for  a  kind-hearted 
woman  to  do  but  to  consent  to  chaperon  such  appre- 
ciative young  people. 

"Mother  says  that  she  would  have  gone  if  she 
were  not  so  timid  in  a  boat,"  one  of  the  girls  an- 
nounced ;  and  "  Aunt  Mary  is  afraid  of  the  river  in 
the  evening,  on  account  of  her  sensitive  throat,"  put 
in  another ;  "  we  're  so  glad  that  you  're  not  one  of 
the  delicate  kind,  Mrs.  Hudson." 

Mrs.  Hudson  smiled  faintly.  She  was  miserably 
timid  in  a  boat  herself,  and  also  wretchedly  sensitive 
to  the  dampness  of  the  river,  but  she  made  up  her 
mind  that  even  an  attack  of  bronchitis  would  be 
preferable  to  dispelling  the  exalted  illusions  which 
were  cherished  regarding  her. 

The  young  people,  having  obtained  her  unwilling 
consent,  at  once  went  ahead  with  their  preparations, 
after  assuring  her  that  she  need  n't  worry  about  any- 
thing, unless  she  felt  like  looking  after  the  luncheon, 
which  was  only  a  trifle,  of  course.  The  charge  of 
this  small  detail  she  readily  assumed,  and,  in  conse- 


MRS.   HUDSON'S  PICNIC.  149 

quence,  brought  down  upon  herself  the  wrath  of 
the  not  too  obliging  proprietor,  who  overheard  her 
speaking  about  it  to  the  head  waiter,  and  availed 
himself  of  the  occasion  to  announce  that  he  was 
tired  of  this  lunch  business,  that  he  had  had  enough 
of  it,  and  that  he  had  already  told  the  young  people 
so,  two  weeks  ago. 

These  and  other  similar  remarks  made  the  pro- 
spective chaperon  wish  that  she  had  undertaken 
to  superintend  any  other  detail  than  this,  despite 
its  triviality.  She  discovered  soon,  however,  that 
there  was  a  still  more  serious  phase  attendant  upon 
the  getting  up  of  a  small  picnic.  If  it  had  been  a 
big  picnic,  everybody  would  at  least  have  had  an  invi- 
tation ;  but  being  a  small  one,  only  a  select  few  could 
be  so  favored.  And  the  pioneers  went  ahead  and 
asked  whom  they  chose,  and  then  screened  them- 
selves behind  the  fact  that  it  was  "  Mrs.  Hudson's 
picnic."  It  was  useless  for  her  to  assure  the  indig- 
nant relatives  and  supporters  of  those  not  asked 
that  she  had  nothing  to  do  with  it,  for  they  did  not 
believe  her,  and  the  result  was  averted  glances,  when 
she  entered  the  dining-room,  in  place  of  the  usual 
friendly  greetings. 

The  morning  dawned  in  cloudy  uncertainty, 
which  is  by  far  the  most  aggravating  thing  a  pic- 
nic day  can  do.  Mrs.  Hudson  ventured  feebly  that 
it  looked  like  rain,  but  was  at  once  overruled  and 
convinced  that  the  day  would  be  all  the  finer  for  a 


150  MRS.   HUDSON'S  PICNIC. 

cloudy  beginning,  and  that  they  might  feel  sure  of 
superb  moonlight  to  come  home  by. 

About  noontime  the  sun  peeped  cautiously  out  for 
a  half -hour,  and,  by  so  doing,  confirmed  everybody 
in  the  belief  that  it  had  cleared  off  gloriously. 

With  a  deep  sigh,  born  of  desperate  determination, 
Mrs.  Hudson  stepped  unsteadily  from  the  boat  land- 
ing on  to  the  gunwale  of  the  boat  which  was  waiting 
to  receive  the  chaperon,  and  nearly  capsized  it  at 
the  start. 

"  I  asked  you  not  to  step  on  the  gunwale,  Mrs. 
Hudson,"  exclaimed  the  young  man  who  was  assist- 
ing her,  with  as  much  politeness  as  he  could  sum- 
mon after  fishing  up  his  coat  and  one  of  the  cush- 
ions, which  had  been  jerked  overboard. 

"  Yes,  I  heard  you,"  gasped  Mrs.  Hudson,  humbly ; 
"  but  I  did  n't  know  what  the  gunwale  was ;  if  you 
had  said  you  meant  the  edge  I  should  have  been 
more  careful." 

Five  other  boats  and  one  canoe  were  needed  to 
contain  the  entire  party,  and  finally,  after  much  dis- 
cussion and  changing  about,  the  picnickers  were 
found  to  be  actually  "  all  aboard." 

Mrs.  Hudson  having  discovered  what  the  gunwale 
was,  grasped  it  firmly  with  both  hands  as  she  sat  in 
the  stern  of  the  boat,  and  a  moment  later  acquired 
more  wisdom  by  getting  her  fingers  pinched  against 
the  end  of  the  pier  as  she  swung  about. 

"Where  is  the   luncheon?"   somebody    inquired 


MRS.   HUDSON'S  PICNIC.  151 

loudly.  "  Did  n't  you  bring  it  down  with  you, 
Tom  ? "  somebody  else  called  out.  In  response  to 
this,  Tom  was  seen  to  leap  ashore  and  disappear  in 
the  direction  of  the  hotel. 

"  We  'd  better  start  ahead,"  some  one  shouted,  and 
the  other  boats  were  promptly  headed  up-stream. 

Mrs.  Hudson  leaned  against  the  damp  cushions 
in  the  stern  and  watched  the  scudding  clouds  a 
little  uneasily.  By  the  time  that  the  "  picnic  pines,  " 
which  were  two  miles  up  the  river,  came  into  sight, 
the  scurrying  clouds  had  begun  to  descend  in  pat- 
tering raindrops.  Out  came  the  mackintoshes  and 
up  went  umbrellas,  but  every  one  remained  cheerful. 
"Only  a  shower,"  several  voices  announced  gaily. 

It  proved  to  be  a  very  heavy  one,  and  Mrs.  Hud- 
son tried  to  hold  her  umbrella  over  the  oarsman 
nearest  her ;  he  begged  her,  however,  to  shelter  in- 
stead his  pet  banjo,  which  was  tucked  under  one  of 
the  seats.  "  Just  keep  that  dry,  Mrs.  Hudson,"  he 
said,  "and  I  don't  care  how  wet  I  am."  Mrs. 
Hudson  took  off  the  cape  of  her  mackintosh  and 
wrapped  it  around  the  banjo,  and  held  her  umbrella 
tenderly  over  it  while  she  sat  with  her  feet  in  a  pool 
of  water,  and  the  boat  grew  momentarily  more  and 
more  wet  and  slippery. 

"  Here  we  are, "  somebody  called  out,  and  Mrs. 
Hudson  peered  from  under  her  umbrella,  and  had 
the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  picnic  pines  rising 
gloomy  and  damp  before  her.  It  was  still  raining, 


152  MRS.   HUDSON'S  PICNIC. 

though  less  heavily,  as  the  unhappy  chaperon,  with 
the  precious  banjo  clasped  to  her  heart,  jumped 
heavily  from  the  boat  into  eight  inches  of  soft  mud, 
and  clambered  up  a  steep  and  slippery  bank,  fol- 
lowed by  the  dripping  picnickers. 

"  Don't  any  of  you  think  of  sitting  down  unless 
you  wish  to  have  pneumonia,"  she  exclaimed,  warn- 
ingly,  as  she  stood  under  a  sheltering  tree  and 
peeped  at  the  banjo  to  see  if  it  was  injured. 

"  This  won't  last  long, "  several  voices  assured 
her ;  "  it 's  beginning  to  break  away  already,"  and 
sure  enough,  a  bit  of  blue  sky  was  really  visible,  and 
a  moment  later  the  drops  ceased  to  fall.  Mrs.  Hud- 
son picked  her  way  over  the  wet  pine-needles  and 
murmured,  "  I  hope  it  will  dry  off  a  little  before  we 
have  our  supper." 

"  Where  is  that  other  boat  with  the  supper  in  it  ? " 
one  of  the  young  men  inquired,  and  everybody  now 
looked  anxiously  down  the  river  for  it,  but  no  boat 
was  in  sight. 

"  It 's  great  fun  to  be  up  here  in  the  wet  without 
any  supper,"  one  or  two  began  to  grumble. 

"  I  don't  believe  they  '11  come  at  all,  now,"  another 
said  gloomily;  "they  probably  put  back  when  it 
began  to  rain." 

"And  took  it  for  granted  that  we  would  do  the 
same,"  concluded  a  third,  mournfully. 

"Perhaps  we  had  better  go  back,  then,"  Mrs. 
Hudson  suggested  timidly,  casting  a  longing  glance 


MRS.  HUDSON'S  PICNIC.  153 

toward  the  boats,  but  nobody  seconded  her  motion, 
and  the  young  people  began  to  explore  the  grove  or 
Seated  themselves  on  the  rocks  near  the  water  to 
watch  for  the  missing  boat. 

The  chaperon  spread  her  mackintosh  upon  a 
board  and  sat  patiently  down  upon  it.  She  tried  to 
be  bright  and  cheerful,  and  thought  up  all  the  jokes 
and  conundrums  that  still  lingered  in  her  memory, 
and  even  told  one  or  two  funny  stories,  a  most  un- 
usual feat  for  her. 

In  the  course  of  half  an  hour  a  welcome  speck 
"  hove  into  sight,"  and  all  set  up  a  grateful  shout, 
"  The  supper  !  It  has  come  at  last."  And  a  few 
minutes  later  the  delinquent  Tom  scrambled  ashore, 
all  unconscious  of  the  anxiety  he  had  occasioned, 
exclaiming,  "  I  should  have  been  here  before  if  I 
had  n't  anchored  under  the  bridge  to  wait  for  the 
shower  to  be  over." 

Seated  cross-legged  about  a  friendly  rock,  the 
picnickers  joyfully  passed  the  sandwiches  around  in 
a  couple  of  moistened  box-covers,  and  regaled  them- 
selves with  ginger  pop  and  hard-boiled  eggs,  which 
were  not  boiled  as  hard  as  they  should  have  been. 

"  Now  this  is  something  like ! "  they  cried  out,  as 
the  salt,  wrapped  in  a  piece  of  newspaper,  went  from 
hand  to  hand.  One  of  the  young  men  knocked  the 
head  off  a  bottle  of  olives,  cutting  his  finger  in  the 
process,  and  then  set  the  bottle  down  beside 
the  chocolate  cake,  where  some  one  immediately 


154  MRS-   HUDSON'S  PICNIC. 

tipped   it   over,  thereby   saturating   the  cake  with 
brine. 

This  did  not  injure  the  cake  any,  however,  aa*. 
several  critics  tested  it  and  declared  that  it  was  "  de- 
licious," and  tasted  much  improved  in  consequence. 
All  kept  asking  Mrs.  Hudson  if  it  was  n't  great  fun, 
and  she  tried  to  say  conscientiously  that  it  was, 
though  she  had  hardly  recovered  from  the  effects  of 
having  a  bottle  of  ginger  ale  poured  over  her,  be- 
fore one  of  the  young  men,  in  his  efforts  to  open 
a  box  of  sardines  with  his  knife,  sent  the  whole  of  it 
into  her  lap  upside  down. 

Mrs.  Hudson  shuddered  as  she  raised  her  bottle 
of  ginger  ale  to  her  lips  ;  she  had  always  considered 
it  the  height  of  depravity  to  drink  from  a  bottle. 
She  picked  up  a  hard  cracker. and  bit  it  thoughtfully, 
after  brushing  off  a  stray  ant  which  was  running 
over  it,  and  mentally  decided  that  no  kind-hearted 
impulse  should  ever  again  put  her  in  a  like  position. 

Supper  ended,  the  young  people,  after  offering  to 
help  the  chaperon  clear  up  the  remains,  strolled  off 
in  different  directions,  leaving  her  to  restore  to  the 
empty  baskets  unaided,  the  remainder  of  the  hotel 
property.  As  she  walked  to  the  water's  edge  and 
threw  overboard  the  last  empty  bottle,  she  heard  the 
voices  of  the  young  people  singing  snatches  of  pop- 
ular airs,  and  the  twang  of  the  banjo  assured  her 
that  the  instrument  had  come  ashore  unscathed, 
thanks  to  her  protecting  mackintosh.  But  now, 


MKS.   HUDSON'S  PICNIC.  155 

once  again,  the  rain-drops  began  to  patter  down. 
Alas  for  any  possibilities  of  moonlight ! 

"  Come,  we  must  go  at  once,"  Mrs.  Hudson  in- 
sisted ;  "  it  is  raining  again." 

The  picnickers  beat  a  hasty  retreat  to  their  boats, 
which  were  unpleasantly  wet  and  uncomfortable  by 
this  time.  The  weary  chaperon  was  handed  hastily 
into  her  boat,  and  staggered  wildly  towards  the  stern 
of  it,  assuring  those  who  were  helping  her  that  she 
was  "  all  right,"  an  assertion  which  she  immediately 
proved  to  be  false  by  tripping  over  a  foot-rest  in  the 
darkness,  and  sitting  down  sooner  than  she  had  in- 
tended in  consequence,  and  causing  the  boat  to  tip 
far  to  starboard. 

An  ominous  snap  sounded  and  she  rose  hastily, 
but,  alas !  too  late,  exclaiming,  "  Oh,  what  have  I 
done  ?  Why  did  you  put  it  there  ?  I  've  spoiled 
that  lovely  banjo  !  " 

Harder  and  faster  came  down  the  rain,  as  silently, 
and  with  all  possible  speed,  the  six  boats  and  the 
one  canoe  flew  homewards.  Never  had  two  miles 
seemed  so  long  before  to  Mrs.  Hudson.  She  sat  in 
terrified  suspense,  expecting  that  every  moment 
would  be  her  last,  as  she  was  rushed  along  in  the 
darkness.  Once  they  ran  aground  upon  a  small 
island,  and  again  they  struck  the  moorings  of  an 
absent  fishing  craft  sharply ;  but  at  last  a  welcome 
thump  told  that  the  pier  had  been  safely  reached. 

The  rain  fell  fast  and  pitilessly  as  Mrs.  Hudson 


156  MRS.   HUDSON'S  PICNIC. 

stood  upon  the  wharf  and  waited  the  arrival  of  the 
canoe,  which  had  fallen  far  astern  of  all  the  other 
boats. 

Now  as  they  watched  for  it,  vague  and  appalling 
suspicions  flitted  through  the  chaperon's  tired  brain. 
Had  the  canoe  been  upset  ?  Had  the  occupants 
been  drowned  ?  What  should  she  say  to  their  fond 
parents  if  that  were  the  case?  She  could  never 
return  to  the  hotel  to  face  their  heartrending  re- 
proaches. While  she  was  meditating  upon  some 
means  of  escape  from  such  a  dreadful  possibility 
the  canoe  glided  quietly  up  to  the  wharf,  but  in  the 
anxiety  that  she  had  endured  in  those  ten  awful 
minutes  Mrs.  Hudson  felt  that  she  had  added  ten 
years  to  her  age. 

"  We  have  had  a  magnificent  time  in  spite  of  the 
showers,"  cried  the  picnickers,  as  they  flocked  into 
the  hotel  office,  wet  and  bedraggled.  Mrs.  Hudson 
would  have  smiled  at  the  word  "  showers  "  had  she 
felt  energetic  enough  to  do  so ;  but  as  it  was,  she 
only  ordered  hot  lemonade  and  dragged  her  tired 
frame  up-stairs. 

She  arose  the  next  morning  with  a  severe  cold  on 
her  chest  (which  lasted  for  many  weeks),  and  de- 
scended to  be  greeted  by  the  reproaches  of  the 
mothers  of  those  who  went  upon  the  picnic,  because 
she  let  them  stay  out  in  the  rain,  and  to  be  coldly 
avoided  by  those  others  who  were  not  favored  with 
an  invitation  to  "  her  picnic,"  and  as  she  sat  alone 


MRS.   HUDSON'S  PICNIC.  1 57 

and  miserable  in  the  parlor,  with  her  chuddah  shawl 
drawn  up  about  her  ears,  these  words  were  wafted 
towards  her  through  an  open  window :  "  If  we  could 
have  had  a  real  jolly  chaperon,  it  might  have  been 
some  fun,  but  she  is  a  perfect  stick,  and  the  only 
thing  that  she  could  do  was  to  sit  down  on  Harry 
Carter's  banjo  and  smash  it." 


A   BAG  OF   POP-CORN 


A   BAG   OF   POP -CORN 


JEREMIAH  TUFTS  was  packing  up  his  things 
"  to  go  home,"  he  told  his  friend  Sam  Wilkins ; 
though  when  he  stopped  to  think  the  matter  over, 
he  had  to  own  to  himself  that  the  place  he  was 
about  to  leave  was  in  reality  much  more  his  home 
than  the  one  for  which  he  was  bound. 

Sam  had  dropped  in  upon  him,  and  was  watching 
with  a  troubled  look  his  preparations  to  leave  the 
place  he  had  occupied  for  so  many  years.  It  was 
hard  for  Sam  to  get  over  the  shock  which  he  had 
experienced  when  his  friend  had  suddenly  an- 
nounced his  decision  to  return  East ;  and  he  tried 
in  vain  to  reconcile  Jeremiah's  usual  calm  and  stolid 
demeanor  with  his  apparent  feverish  anxiety  to  be 
off  at  once.  He  sat  on  a  rude  chair,  which  Jeremiah 
had  always  considered  one  of  his  triumphs  in  furni- 
ture manufacture,  and  puffed  his  clay  pipe.  Jere- 
miah was  nailing  up  in  a  large  packing-case  such 
of  his  household  goods  as  he  deemed  worthy  of 
transportation. 

"I  hope  you'll  help  yourself,  Sam,  to  anythin' 

161 


1 62  A   BAG   OF  POP -CORN. 

that  strikes  you  as  available,"  he  remarked,  taking 
a  nail  out  of  his  mouth  and  preparing  to  drive  it 
into  the  case ;  "  I  sha'  n't  tote  any  of  the  furniture 
away  with  me,"  he  added,  reflectively.  "  It  ain't 
much  of  anythin'  to  speak  of,  but  it  might  come  in 
handy,  some  of  it." 

This  liberality  elicited  no  response  from  Sam, 
who  continued  to  regard  him  seriously,  shaking  his 
head.  "  It  ain't  natural  and  I  can't  say  it  seems 
right  to  me,"  he  said  at  last. 

"  Why,  not,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  Why  ain't 
it  right  and  natural  to  give  away  a  lot  of  old  things 
I  've  got  no  further  use  for  ?  " 

"  You  don't  understand  me,  Jeremiah.  It  wa'  n't 
the  furniture  I  was  referrin'  to ;  it  was  to  yourself, 
man.  Here  you've  lived  and  worked  among  us 
quiet  and  contented  these  twenty  years,  and  every- 
thin'  about  here  's  seemed  to  suit  you.  I  've  heard 
you  say  time  and  ag'in  that  no  place  ever  combined 
to  satisfy  you  like  this,  and  now,  all  of  a  sudden, 
you  pack  up  and  say  you  're  goin'  to  leave  us. 
There  's  somethin'  extraordinarily  wrong  the  matter 
with  you,  Jeremiah,  I  'm  afraid,  and  I  wish  you  'd 
let  me  ask  the  doctor  to  come  'round  and  take 
a  look  at  you." 

Jeremiah,  having  finished  nailing  up  the  packing- 
case,  drew  himself  slowly  up  on  top  of  it,  and  sat 
there,  regarding  his  friend.  "  Don't  you  be  a  wor- 
ryin'  about  me,  Sam.  I  wa'  n't  never  better  in  my 


A   BAG   OF  POP -CORN.  163 

life.  Moreover,  I  'd  like  to  make  one  remark,  which 
is,  if  it  ain't  right  and  natural  for  a  man  to  want  to 
go  and  end  his  days  in  his  own  native  town,  I  want 
to  know  what  is  right  and  natural." 

"  Yes,  if  you  have  a  home  a-waitin'  for  you ;  but 
you've  told  me  many  a  time  that  you  hadn't  a 
relation  in  the  world.  And  you  've  allowed  how 
you  was  pretty  much  a  pilgrim  and  a  stranger 
altogether." 

Jeremiah  cleared  his  throat.  "  You  don't  under- 
stand," he  said,  "  it 's  the  old  associations  and  p'ints 
of  interest ;  and,"  he  hesitated,  "  I  'd  mighty  like  to 
look  up  a  few  of  the  old  friends." 

"  If  you  'd  been  anxious  about  lookin'  them  up, 
I  should  have  thought  you  'd  have  sot  about  it  before 
this.  Likely  you  'd  have  found  more  of  'em  standin' 
around  to  receive  you  ten  years  ago  than  you  will 
now." 

A  deep  shade  of  melancholy  rested  upon  Jere- 
miah's face.  "  I  wish  I  had  started  ten  years  ago," 
he  said,  sadly.  He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and 
then  went  on  :  "I  've  been  savin'  up  somethin',  and 
I  believe  it 's  enough  to  answer  for  my  bein'  toler- 
ably comfortable  from  now  on,  with  a  margin  to  pay 
for  a  respectable  monument  in  the  old  buryin'-ground 
on  the  hill." 

His  friend  again  shook  his  head  doubtfully.  "  It 
won't  do,"  he  said.  "  There 's  somethin'  you  're 
keepin'  back,  Jeremiah.  You've  always  been  fair 


164  A   BAG   OF  POP -CORN. 

and  square  with  me,  old  man ;  what 's  started  ye 
off?" 

Jeremiah  heaved  a  deep  sigh.  "  You  always  was 
as  curious  as  a  woman,"  he  said. 

"  I  reckon  it 's  a  good  failin'  to  resemble  'em  as 
much  as  we  can,"  Sam  remarked,  placidly ;  "  they 
generally  get  there." 

Jeremiah  had  opened  a  small  black  trunk  which 
stood  in  one  corner  of  the  room,  and  taken  out  a 
white  pasteboard  box.  He  removed  the  cover  and 
displayed  a  quantity  of  very  old  and  yellow  pop- 
corn, which  was  running  out  of  a  torn,  crumpled 
paper  bag. 

"  It 's  on  account  of  this  bag  o'  pop  -  corn  I  'm 
goin'  home,"  he  said ;  "all  on  account  of  this." 

"  What ! "  gasped  Sam,  confirmed  in  his  suspi- 
cions that  Jeremiah  had  taken  leave  of  his  senses. 
"  Goin'  East  on  account  of  a  bag  of  pop-corn  !  Man, 
are  you  crazy  ?  " 

"  I  should  n't  wonder  if  I  was,"  Jeremiah  said, 
calmly;  "but  I'm  goin',  Sam,  nevertheless.  Don't 
look  at  me  like  that.  I  '11  tell  you  about  that  pop- 
corn. It  wasn't  just  the  bag  of  pop -corn,  'twas 
somethin'  more.  'T  was  a  note,  Sam,  a  note  that 
went  with  it,  writ  to  me  thirty  years  ago."  From 
his  breast  pocket  he  carefully  drew  a  rumpled  piece 
of  paper,  which  he  regarded  mournfully,  while  Sam 
watched  him  in  amazement.  Then  he  held  it  out 
to  Sam  with  a  trembling  hand.  "  I  guess  I  may  as 


A   BAG   OF  POP -CORN.  165 

well  let  you  read  it,  since  it  was  thirty  years  ago," 
he  said.  "  You  '11  find  the  writin'  pretty  much  faded," 
he  added,  drawing  the  back  of  his  hand  across  his 
eyes. 

Sam  took  the  letter,  and,  searching  in  his  pocket, 
succeeded  in  securing  a  pair  of  spectacles,  which 
he  slowly  adjusted,  and  then  fixed  his  most  profound 
attention  upon  the  scrap  of  paper. 

"  I  don't  mind  your  readin'  it  out,  now  you  're 
at  it,"  Jeremiah  timidly  suggested;  and  with  a 
good  deal  of  difficulty  his  friend  deciphered  the 
following : 

DEAREST  JEREMIAH  :  Knowing  your  liking  for  pop-corn, 
I  put  this  note  at  the  bottom  of  the  bag,  feeling  sure  that 
you  '11  not  be  long  in  reaching  it  ;  so  you  cannot  be  very  far 
on  your  journey  before  you  know  that  what  I  said  last  night 
was  all  a  mistake.  I  did  n't  suppose  you  really  meant  it  when 
you  said  you  were  going  away.  If  I  had  I  should  have  begged 
you  not  to  go,  for  you  must  know  that  I  do  care  for  you,  dear 
Jeremiah,  more  than  for  all  the  world  besides.  I  know  that 
you  will  forgive  me  and  come  back  some  time  ;  and  when  you 
do,  you  will  find  me  waiting,  as  ever,  and  forever  yours, 

AMANDA  WELBY. 

Sam  took  off  his  spectacles,  and  looked  at  Jere- 
miah. "  Well,  that 's  very  pretty.  But  what 's  a  note 
writ  thirty  years  ago  to  do  with  your  goin'  off  ?  " 

"  It  seems  to  me  you  're  mighty  stupid,"  said  Jere- 
miah, fretfully ;  "  can't  you  understand,  I  never  got 
it  in  all  these  long,  long  years  ? "  and  he  sat  down 
and  buried  his  head  in  his  hands. 


1 66  A   BAG   OF  POP -CORN. 

"  Well,  I  declare  !  "  murmured  Sam. 

Jeremiah  paced  up  and  down  the  room  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets. 

"  Amanda  Welby  was  the  finest  girl  in  all  the 
county,"  he  went  on,  excitedly ;  "  all  the  boys  were 
after  her,  to  take  her  to  the  fair,  or  to  the  circus,  or 
to  see  her  home  from  meetin'.  But  somehow  she 
always  seemed  to  rather  take  a  particular  shine  to 
me,  until  I  came  to  feel  about  sure  that  Amanda 
thought  a  good  sight  of  my  keepin'  company  with 
her ;  in  fact,  she  'd  as  much  as  told  me  so  once  or 
twice.  All  at  once  I  had  a  chance  to  go  West  and 
make  my  fortune,  as  they  all  said,  and  I  thought  I  'd 
go  for  a  while,  as  there  was  n't  much  of  an  openin' 
in  Greenboro.  When  I  came  to  spring  it  upon 
Amanda,  I  thought  she  did  n't  care,  for  she  kind 
o'  laughed  and  asked  me  '  why  I  s'posed  she  'd 
care  so  much  about  my  goin'  East  or  West.'  I 
might  have  known  she  did  n't  mean  it,  after  the 
kindness  she  'd  showed  me  along  of  mother's  fu- 
neral ;  but  I  was  angry,  and  went  home  and  packed 
up  my  things  that  night.  In  the  mornin',  just  as  I 
was  startin'  out,  I  saw  her  little  cousin  runnin'  over 
with  a  bundle  in  his  hand.  '  Cousin  Amanda  said 
to  be  sure  to  give  you  this,'  he  called  out.  I  snatched 
it  from  him  and  untied  the  string  and  looked  inside. 
It  was  pop-corn !  Amanda  had  sent  me  a  bag  of 
pop-corn !  That  was  pretty  tough.  Addin'  insult 
to  injury,  that 's  what  it  seemed  to  me.  When  I  saw 


A   BAG   OF  POP -CORN.  l6/ 

him  comin'  over,  I  rather  thought  to  myself  that 
she  'd  been  a  reconsiderin' ;  and  when  I  laid  eyes 
on  that  pop-corn,  I  tell  you  I  was  mad.  I  grabbed 
the  bag  to  throw  it  down  in  the  road  right  there ; 
but  on  second  thoughts  I  opened  my  valise  and 
tucked  it  in,  to  remind  me  of  the  heartlessness  and 
perfidy  of  women.  From  that  day  to  this  I  have 
never  tasted  one  grain  of  pop-corn,  but  I  kept  that 
bag  shut  up  in  a  box  where  it  was  a  warnin'  against 
the  whole  lot.  If  ever  I  saw  a  face  that  I  liked 
the  looks  of,  I  'd  just  go  home  and  take  off  the 
cover  of  that  box,  though  't  warn't  very  often  that 
I  did  it,  for  I  never  saw  any  one  t'  attracted  me  as 
Amanda  did.  Well,  I  'd  kind  of  begun  to  think  I  'd 
stay  here  always,  and  I  had  n't  so  much  as  seen 
that  old  white  box  for  years,  when  I  come  across  it 
a  few  days  ago.  I  was  sortin'  out  some  old  things, 
and  the  box  fell  out,  and  when  I  opened  it  the  bag 
was  broken  open,  and  the  note  was  stickin'  out  of 
it  like  the  finger  of  fate.  Oh,  Sam,  to  think  of  my 
waitin'  thirty  years  to  read  it !  " 

Sam  rose  and  laid  his  hand  on  his  friend's 
shoulder.  "  Don't  excite  yourself  so,  Jeremiah,"  he 
said,  "  but  think  it  over,  calmly,  and  I  reckon  you  '11 
decide  to  stay  here  with  your  friends.  Don't  go 
back  East  just  for  sorrow  and  disapp'intment. 
You  can't  calculate  that  any  woman's  been  waitin' 
around  thirty  years  for  you.  Most  likely  she  took 
up  with  the  next  one  that  come  along." 


1 68  A   BAG   OF  POP -CORN. 

"  I  don't  know  's  I  'd  blame  her  if  she  did,"  pro- 
tested Jeremiah. 

"And  she  may  be  dead  and  gone  long  afore 
this,"  Sam  concluded  solemnly. 

Jeremiah  bowed  his  head  submissively. 

His  friend  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  and 
then  ventured,  "  Don't  you  think  you  'd  better  make 
up  your  mind  to  stay  with  us  ? " 

Jeremiah  rose  majestically.  "  Stay  with  you  ! " 
he  exclaimed,  almost  scornfully;  then  noting  his 
friend's  grieved  expression,  he  continued  more 
gently :  "  I  'm  sorry  to  leave  all  of  you  folks  here, 
but  I  wouldn't  stay  longer  'n  it  takes  to  get  my 
things  off,  if  you  gave  me  every  gold  mine  in  this 
State,  and  the  rest  of  the  country  thrown  in ! " 

Those  inhabitants  of  Greenboro,  who  had  lived 
there  for  the  past  thirty  years,  and  had  witnessed  the 
gradual  changes  going  on  around  them  during  that 
time,  could  not  easily  have  understood  the  emotions 
which  struggled  in  the  breast  of  Jeremiah  Tufts  as 
he  slowly  wended  his  way  up  the  main  street  of  the 
village  and  looked  about  him.  The  picture  of  the 
place  as  he  left  it  had  always  remained  clearly  im- 
printed on  his  mind ;  and  although  in  coming  back 
he  had  prepared  himself  for  a  goodly  number  of 
improvements  and  changes,  he  had  expected  noth- 
ing like  the  transformation  which  greeted  his  eyes. 

He  turned  his  steps  toward  the  old  tavern,  but  on 


A   SAG   OF  POP -CORN.  169 

reaching  the  spot  he  was  confronted  by  a  large 
modern  hotel  which  was  pervaded  by  an  air  of 
bustle  and  activity,  and  presented  itself  in  all  the 
doubtful  glory  of  electric  bells  and  bell-boys  with 
brass  buttons.  The  quiet  composure  of  the  old 
tavern,  with  its  portly  proprietor  smoking  his  long 
pipe  with  his  feet  upon  the  piazza  rail,  was  a  thing 
of  the  past.  Jeremiah  surrendered  his  valise  to  a 
porter,  and  wrote  his  name  submissively  in  an  im- 
posing register  which  one  of  the  brisk  clerks  pushed 
towards  him.  After  a  late  dinner  served  in  a 
countless  number  of  little  dishes,  he  started  out  to 
make  the  acquaintance  of  this  new  Greenboro.  The 
boyish  enthusiasm  which  he  had  felt  as  he  stepped 
lightly  off  the  train  was  rapidly  leaving  him,  and  he 
walked  slowly  down  the  street,  feeling  that  he  was 
like  the  Greenboro  of  thirty  years  ago,  a  thing  of 
the  past.  He  saw  a  postman  with  a  shiny  bag 
going  about  distributing  letters,  and  watched  the 
bright  electric  cars  which  ran  to  the  next  town, 
rushing  by  him,  until  he  began  to  question  whether 
this  was  really  Greenboro  after  all.  Everywhere 
the  old  stores  had  disappeared  and  large  blocks 
had  arisen  in  their  stead. 

He  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  old  burying-ground 
on  the  hill,  however,  which  reassured  him,  and  he 
turned  his  steps  towards  it.  On  the  way  he  passed 
a  new  and  thriving  grocery  store  which  bore  on  its 
sign  a  familiar  name.  He  went  in  and  asked  if  he 


I/O  A   BAG   OF  POP -CORN. 

could  see  Deacon  Holden.  The  deacon  had 
always  been  a  good-natured  man  in  whom  Jeremiah 
had  found  a  firm  friend  on  many  occasions  when  he 
and  the  other  village  youths  had  indulged  in  juve- 
nile pranks.  The  clerk  looked  at  him  in  astonish- 
ment and  remarked  coldly  that  "  the  old  deacon  had 
been  dead  these  fifteen  years."  Jeremiah  quite 
resented  his  calling  the  deacon  old,  for  he  thought 
of  him  as  he  had  seen  him  last,  in  the  prime  of  life, 
with  his  genial  smile,  measuring  out  sugar  for  his 
customers,  and  putting  in  a  little  extra  after  the 
scales  tipped,  instead  of  scooping  some  out  as  the 
clerk  before  him  was  doing. 

Jeremiah  walked  sadly  over  to  a  counter  where 
he  saw  a  pile  of  pop-corn  in  bags,  and,  obeying  the 
dictates  of  a  contrite  spirit,  he  bought  a  bag  and 
strolled  down  the  street  eating  some  as  he  went. 
The  flavor  of  it  seemed  to  bring  back,  as  if  it  were 
only  yesterday,  a  night  when  he  drove  Amanda 
home  from  the  county  fair,  by  moonlight.  He 
remembered  what  an  ideal  flavor  the  pop-corn  had 
that  he  ate  during  that  drive.  This  did  not  taste 
at  all  like  it,  and  he  thrust  the  bag  into  his  pocket 
and  strode  towards  the  cemetery.  He  could  not 
make  up  his  mind  to  turn  his  steps  towards  the 
little  white  cottage  which  used  to  stand  half  a  mile 
beyond,  in  the  cross-road.  He  felt  sure  that  he 
would  find  it  gone  or  deserted,  and  learn  that  its 
former  occupants  were  dead  or  scattered. 


A   BAG   OF  POP- CORN.  I /I 

He  entered  the  old  burying-ground,  appalled  at 
the  number  of  white  marble  slabs  which  had  arisen 
to  testify  to  the  changes  that  thirty  years  had 
wrought  in  Greenboro.  He  walked  to  the  upper 
end  of  the  ground,  where  under,  an  old  elm, 
he  found  one  familiar  spot.  Here  two  simple  slate 
tablets  marked  the  resting-place  of  his  mother  and 
father.  The  lichens  which  covered  the  stones 
wholly  obscured  the  lettering,  but  to  Jeremiah  all 
the  letters  presented  themselves  as  clearly  as  when 
he  first  watched  them  cut  upon  the  stones.  He  sat 
down  on  a  little  iron  stool  that  he  had  placed  there 
almost  thirty-five  years  before,  and  looked  affection- 
ately at  the  old  stones.  Here,  at  all  events,  he  felt 
at  home. 

Some  one  had  kept  the  lot  in  perfect  order.  It 
was  not  overgrown  with  weeds  like  many  others  up 
in  that  old  corner  where  the  white  marble  was 
almost  an  unknown  quantity,  and  Jeremiah  won- 
dered who  could  have  planted  myrtle  on  the  two 
graves.  Were  there  then  some  old  friends  who  still 
felt  an  interest  in  his  mother  and  father?  He 
walked  a  short  distance  to  the  Welby  lot,  and  then 
paused  in  fear,  not  daring  to  read  the  names  on  the 
additional  stones  there.  But  at  last  he  nerved  him- 
self and  stepped  near  enough  to  read  the  inscrip- 
tions. He  read  the  names  of  Amanda's  father  and 
mother  on  two  rather  pretentious  tablets,  and  then 
turned  tremblingly  towards  a  third  and  smaller 


A   BAG   OF  POP -CORN, 

stone.  It  bore  the  name  of  Jerusha:  she  was 
Amanda's  younger  sister.  A  wave  of  thankfulness 
swept  over  him ;  but  it  was  only  a  momentary 
relief,  for,  as  he  threaded  his  way  along  an  adjoining 
path,  his  eye  fell  upon  another  stone.  He  stopped, 
and  stood  fixedly  confronting  it,  while  a  cold  chill 
crept  over  him  as  he  read  again  and  again  the 
words  :  "  Amanda,  beloved  wife  of  Ezra  Parks,  in  the 
ayth  year  of  her  age." 

Jeremiah  dropped  on  his  knees  by  the  stone  and 
buried  his  head  in  his  hands.  So  she  had  married 
Ezra  Parks, —  great  awkward  Ezra  Parks.  Surely 
she  never  could  have  cared  for  him,  for  time  and 
time  again  Jeremiah  had  heard  her  say  she  could  n't 
bear  the  sight  of  him.  What  would  he  not  give  to 
know  whether  those  few  short  years  had  been 
happy  ones.  He  who  had  been  her  husband  could 
never  tell  him ;  for  a  few  feet  distant  another  stone 
marked  the  spot  where  Ezra  himself  had  been  laid 
nineteen  years  later. 

Jeremiah  pressed  his  lips  against  Amanda's 
name,  cut  in  the  cold  slate.  "  After  thirty  years  1 1 
have  come  back,  dear,"  he  murmured.  "  Oh,  if  I 
had  only  known  it  sooner  !  It  was  cruel,  too  cruel ! 
Yes,  I  forgive  you  for  marryin'  him  1  I  know  you 
waited  —  waited  —  for  one  word  from  me,  which 
never  came."  He  turned  away,  bitterly,  murmur- 
ing, "  I  will  go  back  to  the  West.  Sam  was  right ; 
there  's  only  sorrow  and  disappointment  here  !  " 


A   BAG   OF  POP -CORN.  173 

He  returned  to  his  little  iron  seat,  and  sat  there 
watching  the  sun  go  down.  The  glory  of  the  sun- 
set seemed  to  mock  his  loneliness;  but  the  two 
mounds  of  myrtle  brought  him  a  sort  of  consolation, 
such  as  the  actual  presence  of  his  mother  and  father 
might  have  brought  him.  At  last  he  rose  and 
started  down  the  hill.  As  he  passed  Amanda's 
grave  he  thought  how  bare  and  deserted  it  looked ; 
and  he  determined  to  bring  some  flowers  to  leave 
there  before  he  went  away. 

He  mechanically  turned  his  steps  towards  the  little 
white  cottage.  Perhaps  it  might  be  still  standing, 
after  all,  and  he  might  get  some  flowers  from  the 
well-remembered  garden  to  put  on  Amanda's  grave ; 
she  used  to  be  so  fond  of  the  flowers  in  that  garden ; 
he  turned  a  bend  in  the  road,  and  suddenly  came  in 
sight  of  the  small,  white  cottage.  It  looked  the 
same,  in  every  particular.  Here,  alone,  nothing 
had  changed,  save  the  trees,  which  had  grown  so 
much  taller  and  denser.  Neat  and  trim  seemed 
everything,  with  the  same  clusters  of  roses  shading 
the  porch ;  and  as  he  neared  the  spot  he  could  see 
that  smoke  curled  up  from  the  wide  brick  chimney ; 
but  no  sound  could  be  heard  about  the  house  except 
the  chirp  of  the  crickets.  He  remembered  how,  in 
the  old  times,  of  a  summer  evening,  Mrs.  Welby's 
pleasant  face  could  be  always  seen  on  the  little 
porch,  as  she  sat  with  her  knitting,  while  the  three 
girls  sat  on  the  steps  and  chatted  and  laughed  with 


1/4  A   SAG   OF  POP -CORN. 

the  friends  who  dropped  in.  The  flowers  were 
much  as  of  old  in  the  garden.  As  Jeremiah  ap- 
proached the  fence  and  looked  over,  a  delicate  odor 
of  mignonette  was  wafted  towards  him,  which 
seemed  to  efface  those  thirty  years  and  make  him 
a  boy  again. 

A  slender  figure  was  moving  gently  about,  with  a 
watering-pot,  at  the  end  of  the  garden,  and  he  stood 
and  watched  her  until  his  eyes  grew  misty;  for 
something  in  the  way  she  moved  reminded  him  of 
Amanda.  He  would  at  least  go  in  and  ask  her  if 
he  might  have  some  flowers.  He  opened  the  gate 
and  walked  up  the  path,  in  the  dusk,  so  quietly  that 
she  did  not  hear  him  until  he  stood  almost  beside 
her ;  then,  as  she  suddenly  turned  to  fill  the  water- 
ing-pot from  a  pail  near  by,  she  saw  him  standing 
there,  and,  in  her  astonishment,  she  dropped  the 
watering-pot.  Jeremiah  gallantly  stooped  and  re- 
stored it  to  her,  while  something,  he  knew  not 
what,  brought  his  heart  up  into  his  mouth. 

"  I  ask  your  pardon  for  comin'  upon  you  so  un- 
expected," he  began,  hat  in  hand ;  then  he  paused. 

"  It  was  a  bit  sudden,"  she  said,  a  little  nervously, 
and  beginning  to  tremble,  she  could  not  tell  why. 

Surely,  he  thought,  her  voice  is  very  like 
Amanda's. 

"  I  wanted  to  get  a  few  flowers  to  put  on  a  grave 
in  the  buryin'-ground,"  he  went  on,  "  and  I  thought, 
if  you  did  not  consider  it  too  great  a  liberty,  I  'd  ask 


'FOR  HEAVEN'S  SAKK,  UK  YOU  AMANDA?'" 


A   SAG   OF  POP- CORN.  175 

you  to  give  me  just  a-  He  stopped  and  gasped, 
"  For  heaven's  sake,  be  you  Amanda  ?  " 

Some  familiar  tone  in  his  voice  made  her  start, 
and  she  came  a  step  nearer. 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  she  replied,  hesitatingly,  "  though 
there 's  few  to  call  me  Amanda  now.  And  you  ? " 
she  questioned,  doubtfully. 

Jeremiah  seized  both  her  hands.  "  Amanda,"  he 
cried,  "look  at  me  hard.  Don't  you  know  me? 
Ain't  there  a  speck  of  the  old  look  left  ? " 

He  held  her  hands  with  a  grip  like  iron,  while 
she  trembled  from  head  to  foot.  At  last  her  lips 
moved,  and  she  murmured  :  "  It  can't  be,  —  it  can't 
be ;  he 's  dead  long  ago,  —  Jeremiah's  dead." 

"  I  'm  not  dead,  Amanda,"  Jeremiah  cried,  throw- 
ing his  arms  about  her,  "  I  've  come  back  to  you. 
I  'm  alive,  —  I  'm  as  live  as  they  make  'um,  —  I  'm  a 
sight  liver  'n  I  ever  was  before.  And  I  love  you 
better  than  ever,  Amanda ;  and  that 's  why  I've 
come  back." 

Amanda's  fixed  and  stony  gaze  had  changed,  as 
he  spoke,  to  ecstasy  and  tears,  and  she  dropped  her 
head  on  his  shoulder,  sobbing,  "  The  Lord  forgive 
my  unbelief,  Jeremiah.  I  had  given  ye  up." 

They  sat  down  on  the  same  old  steps  where  they 
used  to  sit  thirty  years  before,  and  he  told  her  all 
about  it,  how  all  those  years  he  never  had  read  the 
note. 

"Amanda,"  he  sighed  at  last,  "when  life  is  so 


176  A   BAG   OF  POP -CORN. 

short,  I  can't  understand  why  such  things  are  allowed 
to  happen." 

She  wiped  her  eyes,  which  seemed  brighter  than 
ever,  though  her  locks  were  streaked  with  silver. 
"Jeremiah,"  she  said,  "'twas  the  will  of  the  Lord. 
Let  us  only  remember  His  mercy,  which  brought  us 
together." 

Then  he  told  her  how  he  had  suffered  up  in  the 
old  burying  -  ground  on  the  hill.  "I  was  sure  you 
was  dead,"  he  said,  "  for  I  read  Amanda  Parks  on  a 
stone,  and  I  thought  you  had  married  him ;  and  I 
could  n't  much  blame  you  if  you  had." 

"  Jeremiah,"  she  said,  reproachfully,  "  how  could 
you  possibly  think  such  a  thing  of  me  ?  Had  n't  I 
said  if  you  ever  came  back  you  would  find  me 
waitin '  ?  In  all  the  years  that  I  looked  for  your 
comin',  I  never  once  thought  that  of  you,  but 
always  said,  if  he  does  n't  come  back,  he  is  dead ; 
and  you  believed,  because  his  wife's  name  was 
Amanda,  that  I  had  gone  and  married  that  Ezra 
Parks ! " 

Jeremiah  bowed  his  head.  "  Amanda,"  he  said, 
"  you  must  remember,  I  'm  only  a  poor  weak  man, 
not  up  to  the  high  ideals  of  the  wimmen.  As  my 
old  friend,  Sam  Wilkins,  says,  I  guess  the  best  we 
can  do  is  to  try  to  resemble  'em  as  much  as  we  're 
able." 

He  drew  from  his  pocket  the  bag  of  pop -corn 
which  he  had  bought  in  the  village,  and  they  shared 


A   BAG   OF  POP-  CORN.  I  77 

it,  half  laughing,  half  weeping,  while  in  the  dusk, 
which  hid  the  silvery  threads  in  the  two  heads  so 
near  each  other,  no  one  would  have  dreamed  that 
thirty  long  years  had  elapsed  since  they  ate  their 
last  pop-corn  together. 


THE    ROMANCE   OF   A   SPOON 


THE    ROMANCE   OF  A 
SPOON 


IT  was  rumored  that  Miss  Helen  Maryland  was 
to  give  a  small  and  select  dance  very  shortly  — 
invitations  to  which,  it  was  well  understood,  were 
most  desirable.  All  social  gatherings  at  the  Mary- 
lands'  were  well  attended,  and  young  and  old 
esteemed  it  a  privilege  to  spend  an  evening  beneath 
their  hospitable  roof-tree. 

Mrs.  Maryland  was  mistress  of  the  art  of  enter- 
taining, and  her  daughter  Helen  had  inherited  her 
mother's  easy  cordiality  and  pleasing  manners, 
while  her  own  sincerity  and  frank  good -nature 
would  doubtless  have  made  her  the  general  favor- 
ite that  she  was  had  her  father's  dollars  been  but 
few  and  her  mother's  delightful  parties  not  at  all ; 
though  who  knows  ?  popularity  is  such  a  very  de- 
pendent sort  of  thing. 

Information  about  the  forthcoming  dance,  which 
would  have  very  much  surprised  Miss  Maryland 
herself,  was  rapidly  circulated,  —  by  nobody  in  par- 
ticular and  everybody  in  general,  —  while  she  sat 
intent  upon  the  game  of  progressive  euchre  which 

181 


1 82  THE  ROMANCE    OF  A   SPOON. 

was  going  on  among  the  party  of  young  people 
assembled  in  Mrs.  Welsh's  pretty  drawing  -  room. 
Helen  Maryland  was,  in  fact,  not  aware  that  any 
one  but  her  most  intimate  friend,  Linda  Walford, 
knew  that  she  cherished  the  thought  of  shortly 
entertaining  some  of  her  friends,  and  her  own  ideas 
on  the  subject  were  decidedly  indefinite.  She 
might  have  ascertained,  however,  from  bits  of  con- 
versation floating  about  the  room,  that  the  dance 
was  to  be  on  such  an  evening,  and  at  such  a  time ; 
that  the  music  was  to  be  thus,  and  the  supper  so ; 
and  many  other  interesting  items  equally  edifying, 
and  of  which  she  was  blissfully  ignorant. 

At  the  head  table,  George  Marlowe  and  his 
friend  Forrester  Wells  had  arisen  from  their  chairs, 
about  to  part  company.  George  was  going  down 
to  the  foot  table. 

"Good -by,  old  fellow,"  he  was  just  remarking. 
"  I  '11  see  you  later  in  the  evening." 

"I  say,  who  is  the  coming  lady,  George?"  in- 
quired his  friend. 

"  Why,  the  very  girl  I  told  you  was  going  to  give 
a  swell  dance." 

"  Good  !  Introduce  me  —  quick !  before  you  go. 
My  partner  has  gone  to  speak  to  Mrs.  Welsh,  and 
she  always  takes  it  for  granted  that  every  one 
knows  every  one  else;  and  it  is  not  the  slightest 
use  for  me  to  hum  and  haw,  and  wink  and  shuffle 
the  cards." 


THE   ROMANCE   OF  A   SPOON.  183 

At  this  juncture,  Miss  Maryland  appeared  on  the 
scene,  and  Marlowe  hastily  presented  his  friend  and 
departed. 

Wells  at  once  set  about  making  himself  as  agree- 
able as  possible,  and  he  could  be  very  agreeable 
when  he  chose.  This  evening  kind  fortune  smiled 
upon  him  in  the  form  of  an  immediate  announce- 
ment of  supper,  for  which  he  at  once  secured  Miss 
Maryland  as  his  partner. 

"  I  have  heard  Mr.  Marlow  speak  of  you  so  often 
that  I  feel  as  if  we  were  almost  old  friends,"  he 
began,  when  they  were  snugly  ensconced  upon  the 
stairs;  "and,"  he  added,  "he  promised  to  ask  if 
he  might  bring  me  to  call  some  time;  but  I  am 
afraid  he  is  not  to  be  depended  upon.  I  suspect 
he  wants  to  monopolize  you  himself." 

This  was  stretching  the  truth  just  a  trifle,  as 
Forrester  had  stoutly  refused  to  make  any  calls 
whatsoever  with  his  friend  upon  several  occasions. 

"  I  may  get  the  better  of  him  now,"  he  added, 
gaily,  "if  you  will  let  me  come  on  my  own  hook. 
I  sha'  n't  depend  upon  him  any  more  after  this." 

Helen  found  him  very  entertaining,  and  it  was 
rather  flattering  to  feel  that  she  had  really  made 
such  an  impression  upon  George  Marlowe's  hand- 
some friend.  And  so  it  happened  that  Forrester 
Wells  received,  during  the  following  week,  a  dainty- 
invitation  to  the  Maryland  mansion  for  Wednesday, 
the  ath. 


1 84  THE  ROMANCE   OF  A   SPOON. 

"  So  much  for  making  myself  very  agreeable,"  he 
remarked,  with  great  satisfaction,  to  Marlowe. 

"  So  much  for  having  a  large  amount  of  cheek 
and  unlimited  assurance,"  promptly  responded  his 
friend. 

Miss  Maryland's  cotillon  —  for  such  it  resolved 
itself  into  —  proved  a  great  success.  Music,  floor, 
supper,  and  society,  all  of  the  best,  and  that  kind 
of  "  best  which  is  not  the  cheapest." 

Forrester  Wells  meditated  upon  the  golden 
opportunities  which  were  often  lost  through  short- 
sightedness, as  he  straightened  his  tie  in  the  dress- 
ing-room, just  before  supper.  He  was  always  very 
particular  about  his  neckties.  Then  he  went  down- 
stairs, and  asked  Miss  Fanny  Marlowe  if  he  might 
have  the  pleasure  of  taking  her  out  to  supper.  She 
was  George's  sister,  and  he  offered  this  sacrifice 
upon  the  altar  of  his  affection  for  George,  as  she 
was  not  generally  considered  very  attractive. 

There  was  some  compensation  offered,  "however, 
by  the  fact  that  he  knew  her  so  well,  and  she  never 
cared  for  anything  but  a  little  ice-cream  (so  different 
from  George),  and  then  she  was  quite  willing  to  sit 
and  talk  to  the  next  girl  for  an  indefinite  time, 
while  he  enjoyed  himself  elsewhere.  It  was,  after 
all,  really  much  better  than  taking  one  of  the  belles 
out  to  supper,  he  reflected,  for  they  were  apt  to  be 
very  exacting,  although  there  was  always  that  cer- 
tainty of  plenty  of  other  men  coming  up  to  talk  and 


THE  ROMANCE   OF  A   SPOON.  185 

pass  things  when  one  wanted  to  go  and  get  a  few 
mouthfuls  himself. 

He  now  deliberately  helped  Miss  Marlowe  to  ice- 
cream, a  process  rendered  quite  simple  by  the  fact 
that  all  the  others  were  intent  upon  getting  salad 
and  oysters.  Then  he  tried  to  remember  which  she 
preferred,  a  spoon  or  a  fork.  He  thought  she  pre- 
ferred a  spoon,  but  Miss  Maryland  was  sitting  be- 
side her,  and  she  would  probably  consider  it  more 
elegant  to  bring  a  fork,  so  he  took  both.  Present- 
ing the  plate  of  ice-cream  with  one  hand,  while  he 
held  the  other  behind  him,  he  inquired  : 
"  Which  will  you  have,  a  spoon  or  a  fork  ? " 
To  which  she  replied,  "  A  fork,  if  you  please." 
This  he  produced,  with  a  flourish.  "  See  how  I 
read  your  thoughts  ! "  he  exclaimed,  deftly  slipping 
the  spoon  into  his  coat-tail  pocket,  until  he  should 
have  a  chance  to  return  it  to  the  table. 

Then  he  allowed  his  thoughts  to  turn  in  the  direc- 
tion of  his  own  supper,  which  he  modestly  began 
with  a  few  raw  oysters,  and  the  spoon  was  quite  for- 
gotten. Wholly  unconscious  of  its  existence,  he  was 
among  the  last  to  bid  his  hostess  good-night ;  and, 
thanking  her  for  a  most  delightful  evening,  which 
had  some  time  since  ceased  to  be  evening  at  all,  he 
took  his  departure. 

He  set  out  briskly  on  his  walk  of  a  mile  and  a 
half  home,  there  being  no  car  at  this  time  of  night. 
He  had  gone  fully  half  a  mile,  when  a  thought  of  the 


1 86  THE  ROMANCE   OF  A   SPOON. 

unlucky  spoon  presented  itself,  and  he  stopped  as 
though  he  had  received  an  electric  shock.  Here 
was  a  pretty  how-d  'ye-do  !  Going  off  with  a  silver 
spoon  in  his  pocket.  What  a  story  for  the  fellows 
to  get  hold  of !  No  danger  of  that,  however ;  and 
he  obeyed  his  first  impulse  to  take  it  back  at  once, 
by  beginning  to  retrace  his  steps  immediately. 
Probably  some  of  the  guests  were  still  there.  Almost 
always  there  were  some  intimate  friends  who  stayed 
to  talk  things  over. 

Here  he  began  to  run.  What  a  fool  he  was  to  be 
so  forgetful !  Why  had  n't  he  brought  Miss  Mar- 
lowe her  ice-cream  with  a  spoon  in  the  first  place, 
or  a  fork,  instead  of  giving  her  a  choice  ?  So  much 
for  being  over-polite.  What  should  he  say  when 
he  got  back  to  the  house  ?  Why,  that  he  had  for- 
gotten something,  of  course ;  left  something  in  the 
dressing-room.  Then  only  to  rush  up -stairs,  and 
leave  the  spoon  anywhere  —  on  the  table  or  the 
bureau  —  where  it  would  be  easily  found.  No  one 
would  dream  who  had  left  it  there.  It  was  really 
very  humiliating  for  a  fellow  like  him,  who  prided 
himself  upon  always  doing  the  correct  thing,  to 
carry  off  a  silver  spoon  in  his  pocket,  and  yet  he 
realized  how  inexpressibly  funny  it  would  have 
seemed  if  Marlowe  had  done  it.  What  a  very  un- 
interesting girl  Fanny  Marlowe  was  !  He  could 
not  understand  how  George  could  have  such  a 
stupid  sister. 


THE  ROMANCE   OF  A   SPOON.  1 8/ 

Yes,  this  was  the  house  ;  but  how  changed  !  All 
the  brilliant  illuminations  turned  to  darkness.  Ap- 
parently every  gas-jet  in  the  house  extinguished, 
save  a  faint  glimmer  up-stairs.  How  could  a  half- 
hour  or  so  have  made  such  a  difference  ?  He  had 
not  dreamed  that  they  would  turn  the  lights  out  so 
soon.  It  was  no  use,  now,  to  ring  the  bell,  and  he 
slowly  turned  upon  his  heel,  and  started  once  more 
toward  home,  though  in  a  frame  of  mind  not  the 
most  amiable. 

Mrs.  Maryland  was  a  thoroughly  systematic  house- 
keeper, and  after  any  entertainment  which  she  gave 
always  took  account  of  stock,  so  to  speak.  Being 
blessed  with  a  long-trusted  waitress,  who  each  night 
locked  up  the  silver  and  brought  her  the  key  of  the 
safe,  she  gave  herself  no  uneasiness  in  this  direc- 
tion. Jane,  however,  having  been  occupied  until 
the  last  moment  the  previous  evening,  putting  on 
wraps  and  overshoes  for  the  young  ladies,  had  en- 
trusted this  important  mission  to  the  parlor- maid, 
who  had  massed  the  silver  together,  and  locked  it 
up,  regardless  of  any  sorting  out  whatever.  So  it 
happened  that  Mr.  Maryland  balanced  his  coffee- 
spoon  in  hand  the  next  morning,  and  remarked  that 
he  had  one  of  great  -  grandmother  Meade's  best 
teaspoons.  And  so  it  came  about  that  Mrs.  Mary- 
land, herself,  sorted  them  out  after  breakfast,  saying 
that' she  would  put  them  in  a  separate  drawer  in  the 
safe. 


1 88  THE  ROMANCE   OF  A   SPOON. 

And  then  she  suddenly  discovered  that  one  of 
them  was  missing.  There  were  only  eleven.  Where 
was  the  twelfth  ?  Those  spoons  were  the  apple  of 
Mrs.  Maryland's  eye,  with  their  antique  handles 
and  old-fashioned  monogram.  That  spoon  must 
be  found.  There  was  certainly  great  carelessness 
among  the  servants.  Thereupon  followed  a  tem- 
pestuous morning  below  stairs,  with  threats  from 
the  cook  to  leave  at  once,  in  spite  of  an  impending 
dinner-party  that  evening.  It  was  very  strange, 
but  the  spoon  could  not  be  found,  and  after  a  day 
or  two  the  subject  dropped,  only  to  be  revived  by 
an  occasional  feeble  joke,  on  Mr.  Maryland's  part, 
about  Helen's  friends  admiring  the  pattern  of  the 
teaspoons. 

When  Forrester  reached  his  room,  he  took  out 
the  spoon  and  scrutinized  it.  Yes,  it  was  a  very 
handsome  one,  probably  some  of  the  old  family  sil- 
ver, and  it  would  be  missed  at  once.  How  would 
it  do  to  send  it  right  back  by  mail  ?  That  might  be 
risky ;  things  were  so  often  lost  in  the  mail.  No ; 
he  would  go  around  with  it  after  his  first  lecture  in  the 
morning.  He  would  make  them  an  early  call,  and  the 
whole  thing  would  pass  off  as  a  good  joke.  Rather 
too  good  a  joke,  probably,  as  Miss  Maryland  would 
enjoy  telling  the  story  to  numerous  friends,  and 
when  the  fellows  got  hold  of  it  they  would  never 
let  the  thing  rest ;  he  would  n't,  himself,  if  Marlowe 
had  done  it. 


THE   ROMANCE   OF  A   SPOON.  189 

He  laid  the  spoon  carefully  upon  a  swinging 
shelf  above  his  mantel,  and  then  proceeded  to  retire, 
determined  to  solve  the  problem  of  how  to  return  it 
most  creditably  in  the  morning. 

When  morning  came,  a  loud  knock  rudely  startled 
him  from  his  slumbers,  and  before  he  could  open 
his  eyes  a  telegram  was  thrust  into  his  face.  It  was 
a  despatch  from  his  mother,  announcing  that  his 
sister  Margaret  was  very  ill,  summoning  him  home 
at  once.  He  had  just  time  to  dress  and  catch  the 
next  express  westward,  without  even  a  thought  of 
breakfast,  only  a  hasty  line  scrawled  to  Marlowe, 
and  left  upon  his  table. 

Marlowe  roomed  just  across  the  hall  from  Wells, 
although  it  would  have  been  hard  to  tell  in  which 
apartment  he  spent  most  of  his  time.  On  the 
following  evening  several  congenial  spirits  were 
assembled  in  Marlowe's  room  to  partake  of  a  Welsh 
rarebit,  the  science  of  which  he  had  mastered  with 
an  ease  that  did  not  characterize  his  treatment  of 
the  classics.  His  father,  who  could  not  seem  to 
realize  that  a  quarter  of  a  century  had  elapsed  since 
his  own  college  days,  regarded  this  fact  as  some- 
thing almost  disgraceful,  which  was  more  the  pity, 
since  Marlowe's  understanding  of  Welsh  rarebits 
had  earned  for  him  a  wide-spread  fame,  which  years 
wasted  upon  the  classics  never  would  have  brought 
him. 

Marlowe  presided  over  the  blazer  with  all   the 


190  THE   ROMANCE    OF  A    SPOON. 

dignity  becoming  so  important  a  position.  "  Where 's 
my  spoon,  Warner  ? "  he  exclaimed,  casting  his  eyes 
over  the  necessary  materials  ranged  about  him  on 
the  table. 

"I  haven't  got  it,"  returned  that  worthy  indi- 
vidual, who  was  devoutly  kneeling  before  a  small 
stove,  in  which  gleamed  a  coal  fire,  with  his  entire 
attention  concentrated  upon  a  slice  of  toast  which 
he  held  upon  the  end  of  a  fork.  "  Do  you  think 
I'm  toasting  bread  with  a  spoon,  George?  It  is 
bad  enough  doing  it  with  a  fork  minus  a  handle. 
You  can  have  this  now,  if  you  like,"  he  added 
amiably,  sliding  off  the  last  slice  of  toast,  which  had 
taken  on  a  decidedly  black  tint  during  this  conver- 
sation. "  Here,  Thompson,"  he  concluded,  tossing 
it  across  the  room  to  him,  "  just  scrape  off  this 
toast,  will  you,  and  make  yourself  useful  while  I  find 
the  master  of  ceremonies  a  spoon  ?  " 

This  Thompson  proceeded  to  do  with  his  pocket- 
knife,  resting  the  toast,  meanwhile,  on  Marlowe's 
German  dictionary,  while  the  owner  thereof  solilo- 
quized : 

"  It 's  very  queer  where  my  spoon  has  gone  to. 
Perhaps  you  '11  find  it  in  Wells's  room,"  he  sug- 
gested, pausing  with  a  slice  of  cheese  in  one  hand, 
and  an  egg  in  the  other.  "  Skip  in  there,  Thomp- 
son, and  see,  will  you  ?  " 

As  Thompson  disappeared,  somebody  inquired, 
"  Where  is  Wells  to-night  ?  " 


THE  ROMANCE   OF  A   SPOON.  191 

"  He  has  gone  home,"  responded  Marlowe.  "  His 
sister  is  very  sick,  and  they  telegraphed  for  him  this 
morning." 

General  expressions  of  sympathy  were  here  in- 
terrupted by  the  return  of  Thompson,  triumphantly 
waving  a  spoon  in  the  air. 

"  Hello !  that 's  not  my  spoon  ;  mine  is  a  bigger 
one,"  exclaimed  Marlowe,  taking  it.  "  I  never  saw 
this  before.  Wells  is  going  in  for  solid  silver,  and 
that's  really  a  mighty  pretty  handle."  With  this  he 
proceeded  to  the  important  business  of  making  his 
Welsh  rarebit  a  success. 

A  week  later  Marlowe  was  dining  at  the  Mary- 
lands',  being  among  the  chosen  few  invited  to  meet 
a  cousin  who  had  come  on  from  the  West.  The 
cotillon  was  several  times  referred  to,  and  the  cousin, 
next  to  whom  he  had  the  honor  of  being  seated, 
turned  to  him,  saying : 

"  I  want  you  to  tell  me  all  about  it,  Mr.  Marlowe. 
I  am  so  disappointed  that  I  did  not  come  on  in 
time  for  it."  Marlowe  proceeded  to  set  it  forth  in 
glowing  colors,  ending  off  with  a  reference  to  "  the 
most  delicious  supper." 

"  Yes,"  broke  in  Mr.  Maryland,  "  and  some  of 
Helen's  friends  were  so  hungry  that  they  began 
upon  the  spoons." 

"  Papa  ! "  broke  in  Helen,  reproachfully. 

"  Did  n't  they  eat  up  one  of  grandmother  Meade's 
teaspoons  ? "  he  responded,  laughing. 


I Q2  THE  ROMANCE   OF  A   SPOON. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  queried  the  cousin,  who 
could  never  appreciate  Mr.  Maryland's  jokes. 

"  Simply  this,"  interposed  Mrs.  Maryland,  with  a 
sweet  smile,  which  spoke  to  Mr.  Maryland  of  dis- 
approval, "  one  of  the  spoons  disappeared  that  night 
—  probably  thrown  away  in  the  clearing  up.  It  was 
like  this,  you  know,"  she  added,  taking  up  one  from 
beside  her  dessert  -  plate,  "  and,  of  course,  we  were 
sorry  to  have  the  set  broken  into ;  but  we  do  not 
usually  entertain  our  friends  with  details  of  this 
sort,"  she  concluded,  with  a  reproving  glance  at  her 
husband.  Then,  with  a  view  to  changing  the  sub- 
ject, she  turned  to  Marlowe,  saying  :  "We  were  very 
much  pleased  with  your  friend  Mr.  Wells  the  other 
night.  He  is  a  very  interesting  fellow,  and  I  hope 
we  shall  see  more  of  him." 

What  could  have  so  disconcerted  the  usually  self- 
possessed  Marlowe?  He  seemed  very  much  em- 
barrassed about  something,  and  sat  with  his  eyes 
riveted  upon  his  dessert  -  spoon,  murmuring  some- 
thing about  Wells's  having  gone  home  on  account 
of  sickness  —  a  very  simple  statement,  the  utterance 
of  which  should  not  have  given  him  any  trouble. 
Miss  Maryland  glanced  up  at  him  in  surprise.  Was 
he  jealous  of  his  friend,  or  had  he  been  quarrelling 
with  him  ? 

When  he  reached  home  that  night,  Marlowe 
hastily  looked  about  him  for  something,  which,  not 
meeting  his  anxious  gaze  at  once,  he  lighte'd  all  the 


THE  ROMANCE   OF  A   SPOON.  193 

gas-burners  and  looked  again  for,  but  without  suc- 
cess. Then  he  crossed  the  hall,  and  lighted  all  the 
burners  in  the  opposite  room,  and  continued  his 
search,  but  in  vain.  He  was  very  cross,  and  turned 
things  upside  down,  in  a  way  which  would  have  made 
the  orderly  Wells's  hair  stand  upon  end  could  he 
have  looked  in  upon  the  scene,  and  had  his  hair  not 
already  been  in  an  upright  position.  Next,  leaving 
both  doors  open,  he  strode  down  the  hall,  and 
thumped  upon  a  door  at  the  farther  end. 

"  What 's  the  matter  ? "  responded  a  sleepy  voice 
from  within. 

"  I  want  to  see  you.  Open  the  door,  will  you, 
Thompson  ? " 

"  Is  that  you,  Marlowe  ?  What  do  you  want  at 
this  time  of  night  ? " 

"  I  want  to  see  you,  old  man.  Open  the  door, 
sleepyhead." 

With  an  audible  groan,  the  door  was  unlocked, 
and  Thompson  bounced  into  bed  again.  Marlowe 
walked  in  and  lighted  the  gas. 

"  Oh,  turn  that  down,  I  say ;  you  're  blinding  me  ! " 
exclaimed  the  victim,  burying  his  head  in  the 
pillow.  "Can't  you  talk  to  me  without  such  an 
illumination  ? " 

"Thompson,"  began  his  persecutor,  seating  him- 
self decidedly  on  the  foot  of  the  bed,  "  what  did  we 
do  with  that  confounded  spoon  that  last  night  I 
made  the  Welsh  rarebit  ? " 


194  THE  ROMANCE   OF  A   SPOON. 

"  What ! "  exclaimed  the  victim,  actually  becoming 
wide  -  awake  with  astonishment.  "  Is  that  what 
you  waked  me  up  for,  to  find  you  an  old  spoon  ? 
Clear  out  with  your  old  Welsh  rarebits."  And 
Thompson  prepared  to  launch  his  pillow  at  his 
tormentor's  head. 

"  Oh,  I  say,  be  reasonable,  old  fellow !  "  his  friend 
remarked,  soberly.  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  I  tell 
you  it 's  not  late.  You  must  have  turned  in  right 
after  dinner." 

"  Nonsense  ! "  said  Thompson,  reaching  over  to 
his  vest  for  his  watch.  "  It 's  half-past  twelve,  and 
I  've  an  examination  early.  But  fire  away  and  have 
it  over  with.  The  spoon  was  by  way  of  introduc- 
tion, I  suppose.  Speaking  of  spoons,  is  she  dark  or 
light,  tall  or  short  ?  I  'm  listening." 

"  Oh,  hush  up,  Thompson  !  It 's  nothing  of  the 
sort.  Do  you  think  I  Ve  waked  you  up  to  talk  non- 
sense of  that  kind  ? " 

"  Well,  you  have  before.  Only  week  before  last 
you  kept  me  awake  for  hours  telling  me  that  her 
eyes  were  perfectly  wonderful  and  her  hair  was  — 

"  Will  you  keep  quiet  and  let  me  talk,  if  you  are 
so  sleepy  ? " 

"Yes,  I  will.  But  you  need  not  call  me  sleepy 
now.  You  've  spoiled  my  best  nap  and  I  shall  prob- 
ably stay  awake  the  rest  of  the  night." 

Having  reduced  Thompson  to  a  submissive  mood, 
Marlowe  began  his  recital.  When  he  had  finished, 


THE  ROMANCE   OF  A   SPOON.  195 

silence  reigned  for  a  few.  moments.  Then  Thomp- 
son ventured : 

"  Are  you  certain  that  spoon  had  the  same  pat- 
tern on  it  ? " 

"  I  'm  almost  positive,  but  I  want  to  make  sure, 
and  I  can't  find  the  spoon.  I  thought  that  perhaps 
you  had  borrowed  it." 

"  No,  indeed.    I  have  n't  seen  it  since  that  night." 

"  And  that  was  the  very  night  after  the  Mary- 
lands'  party,"  mused  Marlowe.  "  Still  I  can't  im- 
agine any  fellow  putting  up  a  joke  of  that  sort  on 
people  he  scarcely  knew.  It 's  not  a  bit  like  Wells ; 
but  it  is  the  strangest  thing  I  ever  heard  of,  and 
something  that  no  gentleman  could  do.  Yet  if 
he  did,  think  how  I  feel  to  have  been  the  one  to  in- 
troduce him  and  answer  for  him,  and  I  would  cer- 
tainly have  answered  for  him  anywhere ! 

"When  it  came  across  me  at  dinner  it  almost 
choked  me  to  think  that  I  had  been  deceived  all 
this  time,  and  that  Forrester  was  not  the  fellow  that 
I  took  him  for.  It  was  such  an  unmistakable  pat- 
tern, you  know.  I  never  saw  anything  like  it.  I 
don't  believe  I  could  forgive  him  for  a  joke  of  that 
sort." 

"  Perhaps  some  other  fellow  put  it  in  his  pocket 
for  a  joke  on  him,  "  suggested  Thompson. 

Marlowe  shook  his  head  mournfully.  "  That 's 
not  very  likely.  No;  Forrester  has  always  had  a 
craze  for  collecting  trophies  of  every  kind,  and  this 


196  THE   ROMANCE   OF  A   SPOON. 

only  shows  that  he  has  not  the  taste  to  put  a  limit 
to  that  sort  of  thing.  And  now, "  he  concluded, 
despairingly,  "  where  has  the  spoon  gone  ?  Good- 
night, Thompson, "  and,  putting  out  the  light,  his 
friend  banged  the  door  and  departed  without  further 
ceremony  to  his  own  room,  where,  before  retiring, 
he  spent  some  time  longer  in  thoroughly  turning 
things  upside-down  in  a  vain  search  for  the  missing 
spoon. 

Thompson  was  calmly  disposing  of  ham  and  eggs 
the  next  morning,  when  Warner,  who  occupied  a 
seat  beside  him  at  table,  came  in. 

"Why  didn't  you  come  up  to  my  room  last 
night  ? "  he  began.  "  We  had  a  rarebit  that  knocked 
Marlowe's  higher  than  any  kite." 

"  I  wanted  a  little  sleep  last  night, "  replied 
Thompson,  helping  himself  to  a  third  egg. 

"  I  stopped  for  Marlowe,  too,  "  continued  War- 
ner, "but  he  had  gone  out  to  dinner,  so  I  bor- 
rowed his  spoon,  and  —  what  are  you  choking 
about  ? " 

"  Over  excitement  at  hearing  you  tell  such  inter- 
esting details,  Warner.  By  the  way,  Marlowe 
waked  me  up  at  midnight  looking  for  that 
spoon." 

"  Is  that  so  ? "  Well,  I  never  saw  a  fellow  who 
could  take  as  many  Welsh  rarebits  as  he  can.  Has 
he  been  down  to  breakfast  yet?  I  brought  this 
spoon  down  in  my  pocket  to  return  to  him,  "  he  con- 


THE  ROMANCE   OF  A   SPOON.  197 

tinued,  producing  it      "  So  I  hope  he  '11  appear  be- 
fore I  have  to  skip." 

"  I  '11  see  that  it  is  returned,"  Thompson  volun- 
teered, quite  eagerly. 

"  All  right ;  much  obliged."  And  Warner,  having 
swallowed  the  remainder  of  his  coffee,  rushed  away, 
leaving  his  friend,  who  never  hurried  his  breakfast, 
to  finish  that  repast  in  peace. 

"  Yes,  I  '11  return  it,"  mused  Thompson.  "  But," 
he  concluded,  a  bright  thought  suddenly  striking 
him,  "not  to  Marlowe  —  no,  not  to  Marlowe." 

And  so  it  came  about  that  soon  after  breakfast 
he  might  have  been  seen  directing  a  small,  neat 
bundle,  with  which  he  entered  the  post-office  a  little 
later,  wearing  the  same  mischievous  smile  which 
usually  illuminated  his  comely  face. 

Forrester  Wells  returned  the  next  afternoon  in 
high  spirits,  having  left  his  sister  on  the  fair  road 
to  recovery.  His  time  at  home  had  been  so  fully 
occupied  that  no  ghost  of  the  silver  spoon  had 
troubled  him  until  it  recurred  to  his  mind  as  he 
opened  the  door  of  his  own  room  once  more.  He 
put  down  his  bag,  and  looked  about  "  George  has 
been  arranging  things  here,"  he  commented,  men- 
tally ;  then  he  reached  up  to  the  swinging  shelf 
for  the  spoon.  It  was  gone.  In  vain  he  looked 
everywhere  about  the  room;  it  was  not  to  be 
found. 

While  he  was  still  occupied  in  this  way  Marlowe 


198  THE  ROMANCE   OF  A   SPOON. 

appeared,  and  he  called  out,  gaily,  "  Hello,  George  ; 
here  I  am  again  ! " 

"  So  I  see,"  remarked  his  friend,  without  his  usual 
enthusiasm.  "  How  is  your  sister  ? " 

"  Oh,  much  better.  By  the  way,  did  you  see  a 
silver  spoon  around  here  after  I  left  ? " 

Marlowe  eyed  him  sternly  before  responding. 
"  Yes,  I  think  I  did  see  one  here.  Where  did  it 
come  from  ? " 

Wells  resisted  his  first  inclination  to  explain  the 
full  particulars,  and  replied,  carelessly :  "  Oh,  I 
picked  it  up  somewhere.  It  is  a  very  convenient 
thing  to  have  about,  you  know.  It  was  a  pretty  one 
with  a  fancy  handle." 

"  Not  the  kind  that  you  pick  up  in  the  street, 
eh  ? "  put  in  George,  scornfully. 

"  I  hope  that  no  one  has  walked  off  with  it,"  con- 
tinued Wells,  without  noticing  the  other's  tone. 
"  It  was  an  old-fashioned  one,  and  I  could  n't  get 
another  like  it,  you  know." 

"  Not  where  you  got  that  one,"  broke  out  Mar- 
lowe, with  such  vehemence  that  his  friend  suddenly 
turned  and  faced  him  in  astonishment. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  he  demanded. 

"  Just  what  I  say,"  returned  the  other,  excitedly. 
"  I  never  believed  you  capable  of  such  a  thing.  I 
thought  that  you  were  a  very  different  sort  of  fellow. 
Oh,  Forrester,  how  could  you  ?  Is  it  a  joke  to  carry 
off  silver  from  a  house  where  you  are  being  enter- 


THE  ROMANCE   OF  A   SPOON.  199 

tained  for  the  first  time  ?  That  would  be  disgrace- 
ful enough ;  but  if,  still  worse,  you  are  merely  pur- 
suing a  craze  for  trophies  to  be  satisfied  at  any  cost, 
please  remember  that  when  I  present  you  to  my 
friends,  I  hold  myself  responsible  for  your  ungentle- 
manly  conduct." 

During  this  outburst  Forrester's  face  was  an 
interesting  study  of  rapidly  changing  expression. 
First  of  complete  astonishment  and  surprise,  fol- 
lowed by  incredulity ;  and  then  grieved  amazement, 
as  his  friend's  suspicion  dawned  upon  him,  and 
ending  in  a  flash  of  haughty  anger  at  the  close. 

As  Marlowe  paused,  he  strode  to  the  door  and 
threw  it  open.  "  You  have  said  enough  to  convince 
me  of  your  friendship,"  he  exclaimed.  "Now  be 
kind  enough  to  go." 

Beneath  his  clear,  penetrating  glance,  Marlowe's 
suspicions  melted  away,  leaving  him  most  penitent 
for  his  hasty  words,  and  only  desirous  to  atone  for 
the  injustice  they  had  expressed, 

"Indeed,  I  shall  not  go  until  everything  is  ex- 
plained. Forgive  me,  Forrester,  for  doubting 
you.  I  know  that  you  are  and  always  have  been 
the  soul  of  honor.  When  you  hear  my  side  of  the 
story  you  will  see  that  there  is  some  excuse  for 
me." 

Forrester's  anger  gradually  subsided  under  this 
earnest  appeal.  "  First,"  he  said,  "  you  must  hear 
my  terrible  confession  of  guilt"  And  he  briefly 


200  THE  ROMANCE   OF  A   SPOON. 

recounted  his  experience,  and  his  vain  attempt  to 
return  the  spoon  that  night.  "  And,  of  course,  you 
know  that  I  was  telegraphed  for  next  morning,"  he 
concluded. 

George,  who  was  by  this  time  contrition  itself, 
then  told  his  story.  How  he  borrowed  the  spoon ; 
all  about  the  dinner-party  ;  when  he  had  seen  the 
spoons  just  like  it ;  and  last  and  worst,  how  the 
spoon  could  not  be  found.  Forrester  whistled 
thoughtfully. 

"  I  am  responsible  for  it,"  Marlowe  insisted.  "  I 
borrowed  it,  and  I  shall  go  and  explain  to  the 
Marylands  all  about  it,  and  see  if  I  can't  have 
another  one  made  like  it." 

"  Nonsense ! "  replied  his  friend ;  "  you  shall  do 
nothing  of  the  kind,  and  I  believe  we  shall  find  the 
spoon  yet.  Suppose  we  go  into  your  room,  and 
have  one  more  thorough  search  ? " 

With  this  the  two  friends  went  manfully  to  work. 
Forrester  carefully  turned  over,  scrutinized,  lifted  up, 
and  shook  everything ;  while  George  kicked  things 
over,  emptied  out  drawers,  and  never  paused  in  his 
mad  career  until  the  room  looked  as  if  it  had  been 
suddenly  struck  by  a  cyclone.  Every  now  and  then 
one  of  them  remarked,  "  Oh !  here  is  that  match- 
safe  you  lost  so  long  ago ; "  or,  "  I  've  just  found 
that  pearl  scarf-pin  of  mine." 

George  finished  up  by  emptying  the  contents  of 
his  bureau  drawers  upon  the  bed,  where  collars  and 


THE  ROMANCE   OF  A   SPOON.  2OI 

handkerchiefs,  neckties,  cigarettes  and  stockings, 
tennis -caps  and  scarf-pins  all  mingled  in  glorious 
confusion. 

"  What  did  you  do  that  for  ? "  remonstrated  For- 
rester. "I  had  just  looked  carefully  through  all 
those  drawers,  and  now  you  've  mixed  things  up 
finely." 

"  Oh,  that 's  all  right !  "  exclaimed  George,  cheer- 
fully. "  I  just  like  to  make  sure,  you  know.  It  is 
the  strangest  thing  where  that  spoon  went  to,"  he 
added,  inspecting  the  coal-hod.  "  I  declare,  I  Ve 
looked  in  every  place  I  can  think  of,  and  found 
everything  else  that  I  ever  lost,  and  I  'm  afraid  we 
shall  have  to  give  it  up." 

It  was  with  a  step  less  elastic  than  usual  that 
Forrester  Wells  mounted  the  Marylands'  steps  late 
that  afternoon,  while  George  Marlowe,  by  his  side, 
assumed  an  air  of  extreme  gaiety,  which,  neverthe- 
less, failed  to  disguise  the  fact  that  he  was  just  a 
little  nervous  and  uncomfortable;  the  whole  affair 
seemed  so  ridiculous  and  unnecessary,  and  so 
strongly  recalled  his  very  juvenile  days  when  his 
father  made  him  ring  the  gentleman's  door-bell,  and 
tell  him  that  he  had  broken  his  window,  but  would 
be  most  happy  to  pay  for  it. 

Miss  Maryland  was  at  home  and  welcomed  them 
most  cordially.  They  talked  on  all  imaginable  sub- 
jects, from  music  to  football,  none  of  which  seemed 
to  lead  toward  the  subject  which  both  young  men 


2O2  THE  ROMANCE   OF  A   SPOON. 

were  so  anxious  to  introduce,  not  too  abruptly,  but 
in  an  easy  and  off-hand  way. 

Wells  was  cudgelling  his  brains  for  just  the  right 
sort  of  introduction,  though  it  seemed  to  Marlowe 
that  he  had  forgotten  all  about  the  spoon,  and  was 
going  to  talk  on  forever  about  some  canoeing  trip 
that  he  took  the  previous  summer.  Marlowe  him- 
self grew  so  abstracted  as  to  actually  jump  when 
Miss  Maryland  unexpectedly  addressed  a  remark  to 
him.  Why  under  the  sun  doesn't  Wells  begin 
about  that  spoon  ?  he  was  mentally  ejaculating, 
when  his  attention  was  arrested  by  a  portion  of 
Miss  Maryland's  conversation. 

"  It  was  really  very  singular,  and  quite  like  some- 
thing you  read  of  in  stories,"  she  was  saying.  "  You 
may  remember,  Mr.  Marlowe,  that  we  told  you 
about  a  missing  teaspoon  that  disappeared  the  night 
of  the  cotillon  ? " 

"  Why,  yes,"  murmured  Marlowe,  faintly. 

"  Well,"  she  continued,  "  do  you  know,  it  came 
back  to  us  through  the  mail  this  very  morning  ?  It 
is  the  most  mysterious  thing  I  ever  heard  of,  and 
we  have  racked  our  brains  in  vain  for  a  solution  of 
the  problem.  Now,  Mr.  Wells,  I  am  anxious  to 
hear  your  theory  on  the  subject  ?  " 

Wells,  who  had  hitherto  been  unusually  quiet, 
found  his  animation  suddenly  returning.  "  How 
very  interesting  ! "  he  exclaimed  ;  "  and  how  much 
more  delightful  not  to  solve  the  mystery!  Mys- 


THE   ROMANCE   OF  A   SPOON.  2O3 

teries  are  apt  to  prove  so  very  prosaic  when  some 
one  steps  in  and  explains  them,  spoiling  the  story 
and  taking  away  the  romance.  Come,  Marlowe,  we 
must  be  going.  If  we  stay  any  longer,  Miss  Mary- 
land will  never  want  to  see  us  again." 

When  the  door  closed  behind  them,  Wells  re- 
strained his  wild  desire  to  execute  an  Indian  war- 
dance  on  the  sidewalk,  while  Marlowe  could  not 
find  words  to  express  his  satisfaction  and  delight  at 
the  turn  affairs  had  taken. 

"  I  '11  wager  that  Thompson  will  tell  me  some- 
thing about  that  spoon  when  I  see  him,"  he  broke 
forth. 

"  Since  I  know  that  it 's  returned,  I  don't  care  a 
rap  how  it  got  there,"  gaily  responded  Wells. 
"  There  was  something  really  providential  in  our 
beating  about  the  bush  all  that  time  before  we  in- 
troduced the  weighty  subject.  George,  old  man,  I 
tell  you  it  pays  to  own  up  like  a  gentleman.  Be 
good  and  you  '11  be  happy,  even  if  your  friends 
don't  have  a  first-rate  time  in  consequence." 

"Forrester,"  exclaimed  his  friend,  putting  his 
hand  impressively  on  his  arm,  "  you  not  only  pos- 
sess most  unlimited  cheek,  as  I  've  told  you  before, 
but  you  have  more  confounded  luck  than  any  fellow 
I  ever  saw." 


THE    HISTORY   OF   A    HAPPY 
THOUGHT 


THE   HISTORY  OF  A  HAPPY 
THOUGHT 


AND  the  thought  was  this  —  I  would  ask  all  my 
young  friends  from  the  neighboring  cottages 
to  bring  around  their  various  musical  instruments, 
and  we  would  spend  a  jolly,  informal  evening  on 
my  wide,  airy  veranda.  I  knew  that  my  young 
cousin  Josephine  had  found  her  stay  with  me  ex- 
tremely quiet,  and  I  determined  to  do  a  little  some- 
thing to  make  things  a  trifle  more  lively,  and  so  I 
drove  about  our  summer  colony  inviting  all  my 
young  friends  who  possessed  banjos,  guitars,  etc., 
to  bring  them  over  in  the  evening.  When  I  reached 
home,  happy  in  the  consciousness  of  well  doing,  I 
was  greeted  by  a  telegram,  announcing  that  my 
husband  would  bring  down  with  him  on  the  five 
o'clock  boat,  two  of  our  stiffest  and  most  ceremoni- 
ous English  friends,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Beresford- Pierce. 
I  looked  at  Josephine  in  dismay.  "What  shall  I 
do  about  those  banjos  ?  It  is  after  five  now,  and  I 
have  n't  time  to  send  them  word  not  to  come,  and 
yet  I  wouldn't  for  the  world  have  the  Beresford- 
Pierces  think  that  I  had  specially  invited  such  a 


2O8   THE  HISTORY  OF  A  HAPPY  THOUGHT. 

collection  of  extraordinary  young  musicians  to  enter- 
tain them.  They  are  both  intensely  and  critically 
musical,  so  that  it  would  not  do,  still,  I  have  just 
time  to  see  that  the  cook  gives  us  a  little  something 
to  eat,  and  you  must  help  me  to  arrange  some  flow- 
ers ;  we  must  explain  to  them  just  how  it  happened, 
and  no  doubt  the  young  folks  will  prefer  to  talk 
most  of  the  time." 

After  our  guests  had  been  duly  escorted  to  their 
room,  however,  I  hastened  to  inquire  what  my  hus- 
band thought  of  the  prospective  music.  He  seemed 
much  pleased  at  the  idea,  and  declared  that  it  was 
certainly  a  most  "happy  thought;"  it's  just  the 
sort  of  thing  they  will  enjoy,  he  assured  me ;  and 
he  hurried  away  without  giving  me  a  chance  to  ex- 
plain that  I  had  not  invited  all  the  banjos  after  I 
received  his  message.  Charlie  has  n't  a  bit  of  tact, 
at  all  events,  and  when,  at  dessert,  the  conversation 
drifted  towards  music,  he  announced,  with  a  reas- 
suring smile  at  me,  that  I  was  planning  to  have 
some  music  after  dinner. 

Our  guests  seemed  much  pleased  at  the  prospect, 
and  Mrs.  Beresford-Pierce  said,  dreamily,  "  that  they 
had  not  heard  any  good  music  since  they  left 
London."  I  hurriedly  explained  that  we  were 
merely  expecting  a  few  young  friends  with  guitars 
and  banjos,  and  assured  them  that  it  would  not  be 
classical  music  with  which  they  would  be  apt  to 
favor  us,  but  our  English  friends  insisted  that  it 


THE  HISTORY  OF  A  HAPPY  THOUGHT.  209 

would  be  a  "great  treat."  We  were  finishing  our 
coffee  when  the  Emmonses  arrived  with  their 
banjos. 

"  Now,  Fred,  you  and  Tom  can  give  us  some  tunes 
before  the  others  come  over,"  I  suggested,  as  we 
adjourned  to  the  piazza. 

"  I  think  we  had  better  wait  until  the  others  get 
here,"  he  replied ;  "  but  we  will  tune  up  while  we  are 
waiting.  Give  me  your  third  string,  Tom,"  he 
added. 

"  Let  me  get  in  tune  first,"  responded  Tom.  "  I 
put  on  some  new  strings  this  afternoon,  and  they 
are  all  off."  It  was  quite  evident  from  his  efforts  to 
bring  them  back  that  they  were  a  long  way  off,  but 
at  last  they  seemed  to  give  satisfaction,  at  which 
point  Fred  proceeded  to  repeat  the  process,  varying 
it,  however,  by  two  loud  snaps. 

"  Strings  do  not  last  long  at  the  seashore,"  he 
announced,  cheerfully  selecting  new  ones  with  great 
deliberation.  "  You  are  tuned  up  too  high,  Tom  ; 
you  must  come  down,  or  I  shall  break  every  string 
I  own." 

I  called  Mrs.  Beresford-Pierce's  attention  to  the 
lights  in  the  harbor,  and  I  was  glad  to  note  that 
Charlie  was  indicating  the  points  of  interest  to  her 
husband.  Meanwhile,  Tom  proceeded  to  "come 
down  "  without  evincing  that  rapidity  which  usually 
characterizes  a  descent  from  any  elevated  position. 
They  declared  a  moment  later  that  they  were  in 


2IO   THE  HISTORY  OF  A  HAPPY  THOUGHT. 

perfect  tune  —  a  fact  which  I  saw  that  our  guests 
apparently  doubted ;  nevertheless,  I  hastened  to  say, 
"  Do  play  some  of  your  quaint  darkey  melodies." 

"  We  can  give  you '  Swanee  River,'  or  a  jig,"  Tom 
replied,  and  as  I  remarked  that  the  jig  would  be 
nice,  I  perceived  three  figures  advancing  across  the 
piazza,  and  I  recognized  Mrs.  Brown  and  her  two 
nephews. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  some  more  of  my  orchestra," 
I  called  out,  gaily,  though  I  had  been  devoutly 
hoping  that  something  would  prevent  their  coming. 

"  Are  they  really  an  organized  orchestra  ? "  Mrs. 
Beresford-Pierce  questioned,  gravely. 

"  Oh,  no,"  I  explained,  "  they  have  never  played 
together  until  this  evening,"  and  then,  after  intro- 
ducing the  Browns,  and  finding  chairs  for  them,  I 
begged  the  musicians  to  begin. 

The  young  Browns  had  brought  a  piccolo  and  a 
banjoine,  which  they  at  once  began  to  tune  vigor- 
ously, while  we  sat  patiently  by.  The  piccolo  was 
determined  not  to  harmonize  with  the  banjos,  and  I 
could  see  that  Mrs.  Beresford-Pierce's  finely-trained 
nerves  were  undergoing  exquisite  torture,  while  her 
husband  sat  regarding  the  musicians  with  a  fixed 
and  wondering  gaze.  Even  Charlie  was  getting 
impatient.  "Let  us  have  that  jig,"  he  cried  out. 
The  Emmonses  asked  the  Browns  if  they  knew  it, 
but  they  said  they  did  n't,  but  could  n't  the  others 
play  "  The  Invincible  Guards'  March  ? "  No,  they 


THE  HISTORY  OF  A  HAPPY  THOUGHT.  21  I 

had  never  learned  that.  After  a  long  consultation, 
they  agreed  to  try  the  "  Spanish  Fandango,"  which 
they  actually  started ;  by  the  time  they  reached  the 
second  variation,  one  of  the  Browns  broke  a  string, 
and  during  the  pause  which  ensued,  Rose  Elwood 
appeared  with  her  guitar,  and  accompanied  by  her 
brother. 

"  I  had  great  difficulty  in  persuading  Harry  to 
bring  his  bones  over,"  Rose  announced.  "  Ah ! 
what  fun  it  is  to  have  so  many  instruments  together," 
she  concluded,  joining  the  orchestra,  while  Mrs. 
Beresford-Pierce,  whose  knowledge  of  "  bones  "  was 
confined  to  her  acquaintance  with  physiology, 
looked  curiously  at  Harry.  Just  then  I  overheard 
Rose  saying,  "  Let  me  have  your  third  string,  Mr. 
Emmons,  it  always  takes  me  so  long  to  get  this 
guitar  in  tune." 

Charlie  was  walking  up  and  down  with  his  hands 
in  his  pockets.  "  Play  something,  play  anything, 
my  friends,"  he  exclaimed.  "This  suspense  is  wear- 
ing us  out,  I  assure  you." 

As  the  tuning  still  continued,  I  suggested  that 
perhaps  it  would  be  wiser  for  the  audience  to  go 
inside,  since  it  was  growing  rather  cold ;  "  and  you 
musicians  can  come  in  when  you  are  ready  to  play," 
I  added,  noting  with  satisfaction  that  Charlie  had 
taken  Mr.  Beresford-Pierce  to  the  farther  end  of  the 
piazza  for  a  quiet  smoke. 

We  had  hardly  settled  ourselves  near  the  blazing 


212    THE  HISTORY  OF  A  HAPPY  THOUGHT. 

wood -fire  in  the  hall  for  a  quiet  chat  before  the 
door  opened,  and  our  musical  friends  appeared,  an- 
nouncing that  "  it  was  no  use  trying  to  tune  up  out- 
side where  it  was  so  damp."  I  looked  mournfully 
at  the  other  ladies.  Mrs.  Brown  was  smiling  serenely ; 
she  lived  in  the  house  with  the  piccolo  and  the  ban- 
joine.  Not  so  Mrs.  Beresford  -  Pierce ;  she  was 
trying  to  smile,  but  without  success,  and  I  could  see 
that  she  was  suffering  acutely. 

"  Let  me  have  your  second  string,"  the  banjoine 
was  saying  to  the  guitar.  The  piccolo  was  endeav- 
oring to  reach  the  new  pitch,  and  the  banjos  were 
tumming  experimentally,  while  Harry  Elwood  kept 
time  with  the  bones.  All  the  musicians  were  se- 
renely happy  and  quite  unconscious  of  the  fact  that 
the  rest  of  us  were  not  provided  with  instruments  to 
tune. 

"  Aren't  we  to  have  some  music?"  I  queried,  in 
a  tone  which  might  have  been  defined  as  bitter- 
sweet ;  but  at  that  very  moment  I  heard  Arthur 
Brown  protesting,  "  I  cannot  tune  my  piccolo  up  to 
that  last  key,  so  you  will  all  have  to  come  down  a 
little." 

"  What !  are  we  still  tuning  ? "  questioned  Charlie, 
in  comic  dismay,  as  he  ushered  in  Mr.  Beresford- 
Pierce.  I  nodded.  Alas !  I  thought  feebly  to  my- 
self, if  it  were  only  "  still "  tuning ;  but  it  is  such 
painfully  loud  tuning. 

And   the  worst  of   it  was   that   my  guests  were 


THE  HISTORY  OF  A  HAPPY  THOUGHT.  21 3 

under  the  impression  that  I  had  asked  in  all  these 
strange,  unmanageable  instruments  on  purpose  to 
entertain  them.  At  that  moment  I  could  have  wept 
freely.  Then  I  rallied  and  pulled  myself  together. 
I  crossed  the  room  and  touched  the  electric  bell,  at 
which  signal  Jane  appeared,  bearing  a  tray  with 
cake  and  ices. 

"  Now,  suppose  we  have  a  little  intermission,"  I 
announced,  and  my  impromptu  orchestra  relin- 
quished their  instruments,  though  a  trifle  regretfully ; 
they  were  enjoying  it  so  much.  We  finished  our 
ices  in  peace,  and,  having  taken  things  into  my  own 
hands,  I  determined  not  to  relinquish  my  advantage, 
so  I  spoke  up  boldly,  "  We  will  not  try  the  orchestra 
all  together  again  this  evening,"  I  said,  "  but  we  will 
hear  them  in  sections,  and  will  begin  with  '  The  In- 
vincible Guards'  March,'  by  the  two  Mr.  Browns, 
followed  by  their  choicest  waltz."  They  accom- 
plished these  selections  successfully,  after  which  the 
Emmons  boys,  accompanied  by  the  bones,  played  a 
jig  which  quite  brought  down  the  house,  and  even 
necessitated  an  encore.  Then  Rose  sang  two  very 
charming  ballads  with  her  guitar,  which  sounded  so 
sweetly  that  Mrs.  Beresford  -  Pierce  thawed  com- 
pletely, and  told  Rose  that  she  really  ought  to  have 
her  voice  cultivated,  and  she  only  wished  that  she 
could  take  lessons  of  her  teacher  in  London.  Rose 
forbore  to  mention  the  fact  that  she  had  been  faith- 
fully trying  to  cultivate  her  voice  for  two  years,  and 


214   THE  HISTORY  OF  A  HAPPY  THOUGHT. 

only  begged  that  Mrs.  Beresford-Pierce  would  sing 
something.  After  some  demurring,  she  finally  gave 
us  "  Robin  Adair  "  in  a  clear,  rich  voice,  while  Rose 
played  an  accompaniment  timidly  on  her  guitar. 

From  this  moment  our  English  friends  seemed  to 
be  really  enjoying  themselves,  and  we  all  entered 
into  the  college  songs  with  great  enthusiasm.  I 
noted  with  surprise  that  all  the  instruments  were 
actually  going  at  once  and  seemed  to  be  in  pretty 
good  tune.  Mr.  Beresford-Pierce  was  heard  to 
whistle  "  Annie  Laurie "  with  variations,  while 
Charlie  went  so  far  as  to  execute  an  Irish  jig.  I 
glanced  at  our  English  guests  to  see  if  they  were 
shocked,  but  was  reassured  when,  a  moment  later, 
Mr.  Beresford-Pierce  volunteered  that  he  knew  some- 
thing about  a  Scotch  hornpipe  himself,  which  he 
performed,  after  some  urging,  to  the  stirring  strains 
of  the  banjos  and  bones.  This  crowning  event  called 
forth  a  burst  of  applause  which  bespoke  a  truly  ap- 
preciative audience,  and  when  several  of  the  musi- 
cians declared  that  it  was  time  to  go,  I  was 
astonished  to  learn  how  late  it  was.  My  musicale 
had  been  a  success  after  all,  I  meditated,  as  I  laid 
my  weary  head  on  my  pillow,  but  I  must  explain  in 
the  morning  that  such  an  entertainment  was  wholly 
accidental.  Possibly  they  may  have  enjoyed  it,  I 
said  to  myself,  but  they  shall  not  go  away  from  here 
thinking  that  when  I  knew  they  were  coining  I  went 
and  invited  in  a  lot  of  instruments  which  had  never 


THE  HISTORY  OF  A  HAPPY  THOUGHT.  21  5 

played  together  before,  by  way  of  entertaining  them. 
My  last  words  to  Charlie  were,  "  If  I  do  not  get 
time  to  explain  things  at  breakfast,  you  must 
promise  to  tell  them  just  how  it  happened  on  the 
way  up  to  town."  Of  course,  he  forgot  all  about  it, 
and  never  mentioned  it  during  the  whole  long  hour, 
which  it  took  them  to  sail  up  to  the  city,  with  twenty 
minutes  extra  thrown  in  for  fog,  and  he  certainly 
could  n't  have  been  showing  them  the  points  of  in- 
terest, as  it  was  so  thick  they  could  n't  see  six  inches 
ahead  of  them.  I  can't  imagine  what  he  could  have 
talked  about  all  that  time,  but  it  could  not  have  been 
anything  very  interesting,  for  he  could  n't  recall  a 
word  that  he  had  said,  he  assured  me  afterwards,  so 
I  believe  he  read  his  paper  all  the  time.  And  in 
spite  of  all  my  efforts  to  do  so,  I  couldn't  make 
Charlie  realize  that  my  reputation  as  a  typical 
American  hostess  had  been  at  stake*. 

A  few  weeks  later,  I  read  aloud  the  following  ex- 
tract from  a  letter  I  had  just  received  from  a  friend 
at  Newport :  "  Last  week  I  had  the  pleasure  of 
meeting  some  delightful  English  people,  who  spoke 
most  enthusiastically  of  you,  dear;  they  are  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Beresford  -  Pierce,  and  they  are  being 
greatly  lionized  here,  on  all  sides.  They  spoke, 
however,  of  an  evening  at  your  home  by  the  sea, 
which  they  considered,  without  exception,  the  most 
charming  that  they  had  spent.  Knowing  how  tre- 
mendously they  had  been  run  after,  I  could  not 


2l6   THE  HISTORY  OF  A  HAPPY  THOUGHT. 

help  wondering  what  special  attraction  you  had  pro- 
vided, you  clever  creature.  When  later,  I  had  a 
chance  to  inquire,  I  learned  that  at  the  shortest 
possible  notice  you  had  provided  a  kind  of  im- 
promptu orchestra,  with  banjos,  guitars,  etc.  They 
said  it  was  so  charmingly  spontaneous  and  uncon- 
ventional that  they  considered  it  a  typical  American 
evening,  which  they  should  always  look  back  upon 
with  special  pleasure.  I  envy  your  originality,  dear, 
for  who  else  would  have  thought  of  inviting  in  a 
collection  of  musical  instruments  of  that  sort  on  the 
spur  of  the  moment,  to  entertain  such  very  stiff 
English  people." 

I  laid  the  letter  down  with  a  sigh,  for  I  felt  I  had 
received  rather  a  doubtful  compliment,  but  Charlie 
was  much  pleased.  "  Good !  "  he  exclaimed ;  "  now, 
perhaps,  you  are  convinced  that  it  was  '  a  Happy 
Thought,'  after  all !  " 


A    FURNISHED    COTTAGE 
BY   THE  SEA 


MRS.  BEAUFORT  had  declared  herself  tired 
of  hotel  life,  and  had  insisted  that  a  fur- 
nished cottage  was  the  only  ideal  place  in  which  to 
spend  the  summer.  Her  husband  had  finally  been 
brought  to  realize  the  overwhelming  advantages  to 
be  derived  from  such  a  plan,  and  had  accompanied 
her  hither  and  thither  in  search  of  just  the  right 
place. 

They  were  not  exacting  in  their  requirements,  but 
Mr.  Beaufort  did  feel  that  he  would  enjoy  a  ride 
daily  on  a  boat,  in  preference  to  the  dusty  train  ; 
then  his  wife  was  anxious  to  have  surf  bathing  near 
by,  and  a  pretty  water  view  from  the  piazza ;  while 
the  daughters  said  they  would  be  satisfied  anywhere, 
provided  they  had  pleasant  society  and  good  sailing. 

Simple  as  these  requirements  were,  however,  they 
were  eventually  dispensed  with,  and,  after  many 
trials  and  tribulations,  a  cottage  was  rented,  which 
had  to  be  reached  after  an  hour's  ride  by  rail  from 
the  city.  Mrs.  Beaufort  must  content  herself  with 


22O  A  FURNISHED  COTTAGE  BY  THE  SEA. 

still-water  bathing  and  no  ocean  view  ;  the  girls  had 
no  congenial  friends  near  by,  and  the  sailing  was 
not  considered  safe ;  but  they  had  secured  a  fur- 
nished cottage,  and  they  made  up  their  minds  to  be 
content. 

Even  here,  however,  there  was  a  modifying  clause ; 
for  the  cottage  furnishings  proved  to  be  far  from 
sufficient.  There  was  no  china  to  speak  of,  and 
they  would  have  to  take  their  own  mattresses  and 
almost  all  their  cooking  utensils,  and  rugs,  and  easy 
chairs,  and  lamps ;  besides  several  small  tables,  a 
small  ice -chest,  wash-tubs,  bath  tubs,  pillows,  and 
endless  other  things,  not  to  mention  necessities  like 
the  piano,  Henrietta's  davenport  and  her  sister's 
dwarf  bookcase. 

When  the  large  load  of  household  belongings 
rolled  away  from  the  door,  Mr.  Beaufort  said,  doubt- 
fully, "  We  've  taken  a  good  many  things,  consider- 
ing that  the  house  was  fully  furnished,  my  dear." 

"  Oh,  it 's  just  as  well  to  be  comfortable,  while  we 
are  about  it,"  his  wife  responded,  cheerfully,  "  even 
if  we  do  have  to  move  a  few  more  things  back  and 
forth." 

"  And  after  all,  you  won't  have  any  rest  from 
housekeeping,"  he  continued ;  but  she  laughed 
lightly,  "  My  dear,  it  will  be  a  very  much  simpler 
matter  keeping  house  at  the  seashore  ;  things  almost 
run  themselves  in  a  summer  cottage,  you  know." 

A  few  days  later  she  wished  devoutly  that  things 


A  FURNISHED  COTTAGE  BY  THE  SEA.  221 

would  run  themselves,  as  she  wended  her  way  up 
to  the  city  to  secure  a  new  cook  and  waitress  who 
would  be  willing  to  put  up  with  the  great  "  uncon- 
vaniences."  These  were  many  and  seemed  to  mul- 
tiply rapidly.  The  roof  leaked,  the  stove  would  not 
work,  the  cistern  was  so  low  that  a  man  must  daily 
bring  water  in  pails  for  household  use.  Many 
greater  and  less  evils  Mrs.  Beaufort  discovered  were 
apt  to  go  with  furnished  cottages. 

Then  the  company !  Cousins,  and  aunts,  and 
distant  relatives  galore,  must  be  asked  down  for 
nice  little  visits,  not  to  mention  those  who  took  it 
upon  themselves  to  drop  down  unexpectedly  at  the 
least  opportune  moments.  "  All  the  people  that  I 
ought  to  want,  as  well  as  those  I  do  want,  must 
come,"  she  said  desperately ;  while  Mr.  Beaufort 
came  home  depressed  and  weary  after  his  railroad 
trip,  and  the  girls  sighed  for  sailing  and  complained 
that  there  was  nothing  to  do. 

Mrs.  Beaufort  herself  found  that  there  was 
altogether  too  much  to  do.  What  with  explaining 
how  cooking  could  best  be  done  on  an  oil-stove,  and 
making  sure  that  the  water  supply  each  day  was 
sufficient,  and  sending  up  to  town  for  fresh  fish,  and 
writing  out  lists  for  the  washerwoman,  and  stepping 
out  to  the  gate  to  view  what  the  provision  man  had 
to  offer ;  with  these,  in  addition  to  the  entertaining  of 
Mr.  Beaufort's  second  cousins  and  her  own  aunts, 
she  found  herself  counting  the  days  which  must  need 


222  A  FURNISHED  COTTAGE  BY  THE  SEA. 

elapse  before  she  could  turn  her  face  again  towards 
"  home,  sweet  home." 

But  the  happy  day  arrived  at  last,  and,  as  she 
watched  the  men  piling  up  the  last  things  upon  the 
wagon,  she  acknowledged  to  Mr.  Beaufort  that  there 
was  more  detail  connected  with  renting  a  summer 
cottage  than  she  had  ever  believed  possible. 

"  And  I  shall  have  to  get  new  servants  the  same 
as  usual,"  she  went  on,  mournfully,  "  as  the  cook  in- 
sisted upon  leaving  yesterday,  and  Mary  has  just 
heard  of  the  death  of  her  brother,  which  obliges  her 
to  go  at  once,  so  we  shall  have  to  open  the  house 
ourselves  after  all." 

It  was  a  bleak  and  raw  afternoon  when  the  Beau- 
forts  ascended  their  own  front  steps,  laden  with 
bags,  shawls,  and  many  curiously -shaped  bundles 
suggestive  of  forgotten  saucepans  and  stray  coffee- 
pots. 

"  It  is  time  for  the  load  to  be  here,"  Mr.  Beaufort 
remarked,  as  he  unlocked  the  front  door  and 
stepped  inside. 

"  The  house  is  as  cold  as  a  barn,"  Mrs.  Beaufort 
exclaimed,  following  him ;  "  could  that  man  have 
forgotten  to  light  the  furnace  fire  to  dry  the  house 
off?" 

"  Evidently  he  has,"  her  husband  responded ;  "  but 
I  will  start  a  fire  here  and  in  the  kitchen  at  once, 
myself." 

Mrs.  Beaufort  wandered  through  the  chilly  rooms 


A  FURNISHED  COTTAGE  BY  THE  SEA.  22$ 

in  the  deepening  twilight ;  "  I  supppose  it  is  better  to 
be  here  a  little  while  before  the  things  arrive,"  she 
said,  "  so  that  we  can  look  about  somewhat.  I 
hardly  realized  we  took  so  many  things  away  with 
us.  I  declare  the  house  is  quite  empty." 

The  minutes  slipped  away  and  the  darkness 
deepened,  and  still  the  welcome  rumble  of  the  ex- 
press wagon  was  not  heard.  Again  and  again  they 
looked  anxiously  out  of  the  windows,  but  in  vain. 
"  I  am  so  hungry,"  Henrietta  declared ;  "  but  I  don't 
suppose  we  can  go  out  for  our  supper  until  that  old 
load  comes." 

Mrs.  Beaufort  stood  at  one  of  the  front  windows, 
drawing  her  cape  about  her  and  shivering;  "how 
strange  that  the  man  should  not  have  come  to  start 
the  furnace,"  she  murmured. 

"Papa  is  trying  to  light  the  kitchen  fire,"  her 
daughter  Kate  put  in,  "  so  you  can  go  out  there  and 
get  warm." 

"  I  don't  think  he  understands  anything  about  it," 
Mrs.  Beaufort  responded,  hurrying  toward  the 
kitchen.  She  opened  the  pantry  door,  and  thioi.-h 
a  mist  of  flying  ashes  she  could  dimly  make  out 
her  husband's  form,  clad  in  what  seemed  to  be 
a  silvery  gray  suit.  "  Why,  what  are  you  doing  ? " 
she  exclaimed,  putting  her  handkerchief  to  her 
mouth. 

"  I  am  merely  letting  down  the  ashes,  my  dear," 
he  answered,  coughing.  "  I  should  think  you  would 


224  A  FURNISHED  COTTAGE  BY  THE  SEA. 

have  had  this  cleared  out  before  we  went  away. 
Can't  you  keep  out  of  here  until  I  get  the  fire 
started  ? " 

"  But  that  is  not  the  way  to  let  the  ashes  down. 
Can't  you  see  the  room  is  filled  with  them,  flying 
all  over  everything." 

"  If  you  will  be  kind  enough  to  leave  the  kitchen, 
Clara,"  he  returned,  dusting  his  coat  with  his  silk 
handkerchief,  "  everything  will  be  all  right ;  "  and  he 
threw  open  two  of  the  windows,  making  a  draught 
which  blew  the  ashes  in  clouds  toward  the  pantry 
door. 

At  this  moment  Henrietta's  voice  was  heard  call- 
ing "  Mamma,  here  is  the  wagon-load  of  furniture." 
"And  it's  pitch-dark  out  here,"  Kate's  voice  an- 
nounced. 

Mr.  Beaufort  dropped  the  poker  and  hurried  to 
the  front  door,  followed  by  his  wife.  "  Light  the 
gas  in  the  hall,"  he  called  to  the  girls. 

"  It  won't  light,"  they  promptly  responded,  mak- 
ing way  for  two  expressmen  who  stumbled  in,  laden 
with  chairs  and  tables. 

"  What,  has  n't  the  gas  been  turned  on  ? "  Mr. 
Beaufort  questioned ;  "  I  sent  them  special  word  not 
to  fail  to  have  it  on.  Well,  you  will  have  to  fly 
around  and  get  some  lamps  lighted." 

"I  suppose  you  know  that  all  the  lamps  are  in  the 
packing-trunks,"  Mrs  Beaufort  said  regretfully. 

"  Well  then,  candles ;   can't  you  find  some  can- 


A  FURNISHED  COTTAGE  BY  THE  SEA.  22$ 

dies?"  Mr.  Beaufort  called  back;  "there  must  be 
some  candles." 

"  I  'm  afraid  we  took  all  the  extra  candles  with  us," 
Mrs.  Beaufort  answered,  hurrying  into  the  store- 
room, while  the  girls  ran  hither  and  thither  tumbling 
over  the  numerous  pieces  of  furniture  which  the  men 
were  rapidly  piling  up  in  the  hall. 

After  a  frantic  search,  during  which  Mrs.  Beau- 
fort opened  the  pantry  door  and  then  ran  against  it, 
giving  herself  a  black  eye,  one  of  the  girls  discovered 
a  box  filled  with  little  colored  candles  such  as  are 
used  on  Christmas  trees  and  birthday  cakes.  These 
were  hastily  brought  out,  lighted  and  set  about  in 
every  available  spot,  where  they  dripped  and  sput- 
tered fitfully. 

"Tell  the  men  to  bring  the  three  big  packing- 
cases  into  the  dining-room,"  Mr.  Beaufort  exclaimed, 
as  he  almost  fell  over  a  barrel  of  crockery  which  had 
been  planted  in  the  middle  of  the  hall. 

"  Yes,  the  lamps  are  in  one  of  those  packing- 
cases,  I  'm  sure,"  Mrs.  Beaufort  answered,  breaking 
away  from  Henrietta,  who  was  tying  up  her  eye  with 
a  handkerchief  wet  in  cold  water. 

"  Girls,  where  are  the  keys  to  the  packing-cases  ? " 
their  father  was  saying,  excitedly;  "you  remember 
you  took  them  from  me  before  we  started." 

"I  gave  them  to  mamma,"  promptly  responded 
Kate,  "and  I  don't  know  what  she  did  with  them." 

"  Mamma,  what  did  you  do  with  the  keys  ? "  bin. 


226  A  FURNISHED  COTTAGE  BY  THE  SEA. 

called  after  her  mother,  who  had  gone  in  search  of 
kerosene  oil. 

"  Up-stairs  in  my  black  bag,"  came  back  from  the 
laundry,  where  Mrs.  Beaufort  was  wandering  about 
with  one  Christmas-tree  candle,  which  constantly 
burned  her  fingers  with  hot  wax. 

"  Henrietta,  show  the  men  where  to  take  those 
big  square  trunks,"  she  added,  coming  in  trium- 
phantly with  an  oil-can,  which  her  husband  immedi- 
ately kicked  over  in  trying  to  move  one  of  the 
packing-trunks. 

As  Henrietta  disappeared  up -stairs  to  pilot  the 
big  square  trunks,  a  crash  resounded  through  the 
house.  "What  is  that?"  Mrs.  Beaufort  cried, 
dropping  the  cloth  with  which  she  was  wiping  up 
kerosene  oil  from  the  dining-room  hearth. 

"Oh,  mamma,"  came  a  voice  from  the  darkness 
overhead,  "the  man  has  knocked  down  grand- 
mother Hamilton's  portrait  with  the  corner  of  one 
of  those  trunks,  on  the  way  up-stairs." 

Mrs.  Beaufort  drew  a  deep  sigh,  but  did  not 
speak ;  being  only  a  woman  no  appropriate  words 
instantly  rose  to  her  lips. 

"  And  the  glass  is  all  over  the  stairs,"  her  daugh- 
ter's voice  went  on,  encouragingly.  This  fact  was 
quite  evident  from  the  crunching  sound  made  by 
the  descending  feet  of  the  two  expressmen,  who 
ground  the  well-distributed  fragments  into  the  hard- 
wood floor  below. 


A  FURNISHED  COTTAGE  BY  THE  SEA.  22J 

"  And  the  floor  has  been  newly  done  over,  you 
know,"  she  said  to  Mr.  Beaufort.  He,  however,  had 
no  time  to  waste  upon  speculations  of  this  sort ;  he 
was  down  on  his  knees  before  one  of  the  packing- 
cases  trying  to  fit  a  key  into  its  Yale  lock.  He  had 
been  all  through  the  bunch  once,  without  success, 
and  had  begun  again,  this  time  more  slowly. 

"  Quick !  they  are  bringing  in  the  piano  and  we 
must  have  some  light  in  the  parlor,"  Kate  was 
heard  to  exclaim,  as  a  heavy  thump  against  the  hall 
wainscoting  bespoke  the  entrance  of  that  musical 
instrument. 

Mr.  Beaufort  had  succeeded  in  unlocking  two  of 
the  packing -trunks,  and  he  and  Henrietta  were 
plunging  wildly  into  them  to  find  the  much-needed 
lamps.  "That's  the  trunk  with  the  table-linen  in  it, 
Henrietta,"  her  mother  said,  coming  into  the  room, 
"there  are  no  lamps  in  there."  This  was  already 
evident,  as  her  daughter  had  reached  the  bottom 
after  piling  out  the  table-cloths  and  napkins  in  all 
directions  on  the  floor. 

"  Here  is  part  of  the  study  lamp,"  Mr.  Beaufort 
exclaimed,  joyfully,  throwing  out  armfuls  of  every- 
thing pell-mell. 

"  Where  are  the  lamp  chimneys  ?  "  Mrs.  Beaufort 
queried. 

"  Right  on  top  of  one  of  the  barrels,"  Mr.  Beau- 
fort replied,  as  a  fourth  barrel  was  rolled  into  the 
room. 


228  A  FURNISHED  COTTAGE  BY  THE  SEA. 

"  But  which  barrel  ? "  his  daughter  called  after 
him  as  he  stepped  into  the  hall.  "  This  one  seems 
to  be  all  teacups,"  she  continued,  rapidly  unrolling 
a  number  and  setting  them  on  the  table. 

"Here's  the  ice-cream  freezer,"  Mr.  Beaufort 
said,  cheerily,  setting  it  down  directly  on  top  of  the 
teacups,  which  flew  like  chaff  before  the  wind. 
"  What  under  the  sun  do  you  want  to  go  pulling  out 
that  china  for  yet  ?  "  he  cried ;  "  I  should  think 
there  were  enough  things  around  already." 

By  the  uncertain  light  of  a  blue,  a  yellow,  and  a  red 
candle  the  men  groped  patiently  for  the  legs  of  the 
piano,  which  they  had  great  difficulty  in  adjusting. 
Kate  stood  beside  them  holding  a  candle  in  each 
hand,  and  shedding  alternate  streams  of  blue  and 
red  wax  over  her  dress,  the  prostrate  piano,  and 
the  bowed  heads  of  the  two  expressmen,  who  finally 
retired  after  no  worse  mishaps  than  falling  over 
one  ottoman  and  upsetting  the  afternoon  tea- 
table. 

As  Kate  picked  up  the  tea-caddy  and  ran  her 
fingers  over  the  surface  of  the  brass  kettle  to  ascer- 
tain how  deeply  it  was  dented,  she  saw  her  father 
standing  triumphantly  in  the  doorway  holding  a 
lighted  lamp  in  his  hands,  which  was  smoking  in  a 
most  lively  way.  "  We  Ve  found  some  oil  and 
we  're  all  right  now,"  he  said,  pleasantly.  "  Now 
we  can  see  where  we  are." 

This  privilege  seemed,  however,  rather  a  doubt- 


A  FURNISHED  COTTAGE  BY  THE  SEA.  22Q 

ful  one,  as  the  added  illumination  revealed  anything 
but  a  cheerful  view  of  their  environment. 

As  the  door  closed  behind  the  departing  express- 
men, Mrs.  Beaufort  suggested,  wearily,  "  If  we  can 
find  that  oil-stove,  perhaps  I  can  make  a  cup  of  tea, 
for  I  am  too  tired  to  go  out  anywhere  for  my 
supper." 

Mr.  Beaufort  preceded  her  with  the  lamp,  and 
they  threaded  their  way  cautiously  over  piles  of  table 
linen,  broken  china  and  the  rest  of  the  debris  which 
covered  the  dining-room  floor  out  into  the  hall, 
where  grandmother  Hamilton's  shattered  portrait 
looked  reproachfully  out  from  among  hammock 
poles,  bath  tubs,  and  bundles  of  pillows  and  piles  of 
rugs. 

They  entered  the  parlor,  where  the  piano  stood 
decorated  by  wax  of  many  colors,  and  passed 
through  into  the  sitting-room,  where  the  oil -stove 
greeted  their  gaze ;  there  it  stood,  safe  and  sound, 
in  the  centre  of  the  polished  mahogany  table. 

Having  insisted  that  the  others  must  go  and 
get  a  substantial  repast,  Mrs.  Beaufort  sat  alone  in 
the  midst  of  chaos.  Barrels  stood  half  unpacked 
about  her,  and  broken  china  was  under  her  feet, 
while  the  light  from  the  lamp,  which  streamed  dimly 
through  the  smoky  chimney,  revealed  a  wash-tub 
filled  with  cooking  utensils  resting  upon  the  top  of 
Henrietta's  writing-desk. 

Mrs.  Beaufort  silently  watched  the  water  in  the 


230  A  FURNISHED  COTTAGE  BY  THE  SEA. 

little  saucepan  on  the  oil  -  stove,  which  was  almost 
boiling,  as  she  drew  from  her  luncheon  basket,  near 
by,  a  few  crackers,  the  remains  of  their  hasty  lunch 
at  noon. 

On  the  dining-room  table,  beside  the  oil -stove, 
stood  the  ice-cream  freezer,  a  waffle  iron  and  a  coal- 
hod,  but  Mrs.  Beaufort  saw  them  not;  she  looked 
across  at  a  ghastly  reflection  in  a  mirror  opposite. 
The  mirror  reflected  a  haggard  face  with  a  bandage 
over  one  eye  —  the  eye  which  had  come  in  contact 
with  the  pantry  door. 

As  she  gazed  at  the  mournful  spectacle,  she 
murmured  to  herself :  "  I  know  not  what  punishment 
I  have  deserved  for  past  misdoings,  nor  yet  what 
fate  the  future  has  in  store  for  me,  but  I  devoutly 
hope  I  may  not  be  called  upon  to  expiate  my  sins 
by  renting  another  furnished  'cottage  by  the  sea.'" 


A    HALLOWE'EN    PARTY 


A  HALLOWE'EN    PARTY 


THE  writer  smiled  complacently  as  he  penned 
the  following  lines :  "  Mr.  J.  Turner  Dodge 
regrets  that  a  previous  engagement  will  prevent  him 
from  accepting  Mrs.  Horton's  very  kind  invitation 
for  Hallowe'en."  Then  he  cheerfully  directed  an 
envelope,  and  after  extracting  a  stamp  from  his 
letter -case,  he  caught  up  his  hat  and  went  forth 
to  mail  his  note  at  once. 

As  the  lid  of  the  letter-box  clicked  after  the 
descending  "  regret,"  J.  Turner  Dodge  gave  an 
audible  sigh  of  relief  and  briskly  retraced  his  steps 
to  his  rooms  in  Beck  Hall.  His  return  was  hailed 
by  his  special  crony,  Charles  Manhattan,  who  had 
come  in  to  consult  him  about  some  vital  question 
regarding  athletics. 

"  What  are  you  so  pleased  about  ? "  his  friend 
inquired,  as  he  entered;  "you  look  as  if  you  had 
just  received  an  extra  check  from  the  old  man." 

"  I  Ve  been  doing  up  my  society  correspondence," 
laughed  the  other ;  "  by  the  way,  are  you  going  to 
do  anything  special  next  Monday  night  ?  " 


234  A   HALLOWE'EN  PARTY. 

Manhattan  took  out  a  small  engagement  -  book 
and  scanned  it.  "  No,  nothing  for  Monday  night," 
he  replied. 

"  Well,  then,  you  have  a  pressing  engagement 
to  go  to  the  theatre  with  me ;  we  '11  go  anywhere 
you  say.  Now  set  it  down  and  underline  it  three 
times,  and  put  '  supper  afterwards '  in  a  big  paren- 
thesis." 

After  Manhattan  had  gone,  his  friend  sat  for 
some  time  gazing  thoughtfully  at  the  frost -nipped 
plants  in  the  box  outside  of  his  window.  A  casual 
observer  would  have  said  that  he  was  critically 
inspecting  the  condition  of  the  drooping  geraniums, 
but,  in  reality,  at  that  moment  he  was  totally  uncon- 
scious of  the  existence  of  the  vegetable  creation. 

J.  Turner  Dodge  was  inwardly  reviewing  his  first 
Hallowe'en  party;  it  was  just  a  year  ago  that  he 
had  received  an  invitation  from  some  suburban 
friends  to  spend  that  witching  evening  at  their 
pleasant  country  house. 

He  knew  the  people  only  slightly,  and  the  invita- 
tion seemed  rather  a  formal  one,  but  "  Hallowe'en  " 
sounded  decidedly  attractive.  It  savored  of  old- 
fashioned  games  and  dances  (of  which  his  knowl- 
edge was  very  limited),  and  of  thrilling  ghost  stories 
whispered  to  a  spellbound  circle  about  a  blazing 
wood-fire.  Therefore  Dodge  accepted  the  invitation 
immediately,  undismayed  by  the  fact  that  he  must 
take  a  trip  out  of  town,  and  he  found  himself  look- 


A   HALLOWE'EN  PARTY.  235 

ing  forward  to  the  prospective  party  with  no  little 
pleasure. 

"  They  never  have  anything  of  the  sort  in  New 
York,"  he  remarked  to  his  friend  Thornton,  who 
roomed  near  him  ;  "  nothing  but  the  same  old  tire- 
some things  over  and  over  again." 

That  young  gentleman  grunted  unsympathetically. 
"  It  may  be  the  same  old  thing  with  a  different  label, 
my  boy ;  at  the  last  Hallowe'en  party  I  went  to,  we 
played  progressive  euchre  all  the  evening.  There  is 
the  booby  prize,"  he  concluded,  pointing  to  a  many- 
colored  drum  suspended  from  his  gas -fixture,  and 
bearing  the  appropriate  motto,  "  Something  that  you 
can  beat." 

This  was  a  bit  disheartening  to  Dodge,  but  he 
consoled  himself  with  the  thought  that  he  always 
had  pretty  good  luck  at  progressive  euchre,  after 
all. 

He  was  in  a  particularly  happy  frame  of  mind  on 
the  eventful  evening.  The  football  team  had  been 
doing  fine  work  all  the  afternoon,  and  he  had  been 
able  to  cut  a  large  number  of  recitations  success- 
fully ;  then,  his  new  dress  suit  had  just  come  out 
from  the  tailor's  and  it  fitted  him  perfectly.  It  had 
arrived  exactly  in  the  nick  of  time,  he  meditated,  as 
his  old  one  was  really  too  shabby  to  be  seen  in.  If 
Dodge  had  been  a  girl  he  would  have  gazed  at  him- 
self in  the  mirror  long  and  with  undisguised  admi- 
ration ;  being  only  a  man,  however,  he  merely  glanced 


236  A   HALLOWE'EN  PARTY. 

carelessly  at  his  glossy-coated  reflection  a  couple  of 
times  with  tolerable  complacency. 

The  first  damper  upon  his  high  spirits  he  sus- 
tained when  he  reached  the  railway  station,  for  as 
he  strolled  leisurely  in  to  take  the  eight  o'clock 
train,  he  was  greeted  by  the  announcement  that 
the  train  had  gone.  "  Eight  o'clock  train  goes  at 
seven  minutes  of,  now,"  the  man  at  the  gate  informed 
him  with  evident  satisfaction ;  "  just  changed  last 
Wednesday;  next  train  goes  at  eight  -  thirty." 

Dodge  went  back  and  bought  copies  of  Life, 
Judge,  and  Puck,  and  frowned  over  the  jokes ;  after 
he  had  read  them  all,  he  discovered  that  it  was 
only  quarter -past  eight,  and  then  he  went  out  and 
walked  up  and  down  in  front  of  the  closed  gate ;  he 
wondered  if  it  was  a  card-party,  and  pictured  them 
playing  three  at  one  table,  or  getting  in  some  unwill- 
ing elderly  member  of  the  family  who  did  n't  know 
the  game,  to  torture  the  other  players.  He  could 
see  the  unhappy  substitute  dragged  from  the  quiet 
enjoyment  of  an  evening  paper,  throwing  down  the 
left  bower,  and  then  hurriedly  exclaiming :  "  Oh, 
I  beg  your  pardon,  I  never  can  remember  that  is 
a  trump." 

Dodge  was  aroused  from  his  meditations  by  the 
sound  of  the  last  bell,  which  bespoke  the  departure 
of  the  eight -thirty  train,  and,  dashing  through  the 
gate,  he  jumped  aboard  just  as  the  train  began  to 
move  out  of  the  station. 


A   HALLOWE'EN  PARTY.  237 

He  was  the  last  guest  to  arrive,  and  as  he  de- 
scended to  greet  his  hostess,  he  became  aware  of 
the  fact  that  the  young  people  were  enjoying  a  game 
of  blind  man's  buff;  he  also  noticed  that  he  was 
apparently  the  only  man  present  attired  in  a  dress 
suit ;  the  perception  of  this  fact  did  not  tend  to  put 
him  greatly  at  his  ease,  but  he  nevertheless  en- 
deavored to  enter  into  the  game  with  great  enthusi- 
asm, the  result  of  this  being  his  immediate  capture, 
after  which  he  was  blindfolded  and  left  to  dash 
wildly  about  with  his  arms  extended  in  the  air. 
He  fell  over  chairs  and  crickets,  and  struck  his 
head  against  the  sharp  corners  of  bookcases  and 
jutting  cabinets  laden  with  bric-a-brac,  while  the 
fun  ran  high  and  everybody  danced  about  and 
jeered  at  him,  and  the  other  fellows  jerked  his  coat 
tails. 

By  the  time  he  had  captured  somebody  it  was 
announced  that  everybody  was  to  adjourn  to  the 
kitchen  for  some  magnificent  fun.  There  were 
chestnuts  to  be  roasted,  apples  to  be  pared,  and 
endless  other  delightful  things  to  be  done. 

In  the  centre  of  the  kitchen  stood  a  tub  half-filled 
with  water.  "  How  jolly,  we  are  going  to  bob  for 
apples  1 "  somebody  cried  out. 

"  Have  you  ever  tried  it,  Mr.  Dodge  ? "  a  sprightly 
young  girl  at  his  elbow  asked,  seeing  him  look  curi- 
ously at  the  wash-tub. 

He  replied  that  he  had  not.     "Oh,  Mr.  Dodge 


238  A    HALLOWE'EN  PARTY. 

has  never  bobbed  for  apples  !  "  she  exclamed ;  "  we 
must  make  him  begin." 

"  Thank  you,  but  I  think  I  '11  let  somebody  else 
show  me  first,"  he  protested,  determined  not  to  in- 
dulge, if  he  could  possibly  help  it. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Dodge  had  better  not  try  it  in  his 
dress  suit,"  put  in  some  thoughtful  member  of  the 
company ;  and  after  that,  there  was  nothing  left  for 
him  to  do  but  to  insist  upon  bobbing  for  the  kind 
of  fruit  which  he  specially  disliked,  to  prove  that 
his  dress  suit  was  only  an  old  one,  which  he  would 
rather  spoil  than  not.  He  was  instructed  that  the 
floating  apples  were  to  be  extracted  from  the  water 
by  the  victim's  teeth,  and  intent  upon  not  seeming 
disagreeable,  he  ducked  his  head  desperately  into 
the  tub  and  splashed  and  spluttered  with  the  others. 
"  Fortune  favors  the  brave,"  and  showers  them  with 
things  they  do  not  want,  and  this,  without  doubt, 
accounted  for  Dodge's  well-deserved  success,  for  he 
finally  succeeded  in  extracting  a  much  bitten  apple 
with  which  he  emerged  dripping  and  wrathful,  but 
determined  not  to  show  the  white  feather,  even  if  he 
were  asked  to  dance  in  a  coal-bin. 

Then  followed  apple  act  number  two ;  this  time 
an  apple  was  suspended  from  a  string,  and  all 
jumped  wildly  in  the  air  after  it,  as  if  the  loss  of  a 
couple  of  front  teeth  was  a  secondary  consideration 
compared  with  the  pleasure  to  be  derived  from 
securing  a  bite  of  that  apple.  Dodge  and  a  fellow 


A   HALLOWE'EN  PARTY.  239 

opposite  him  jumped  for  it  at  the  same  moment, 
and  the  result  was  a  violent  collision  which  nearly 
broke  both  their  noses. 

Next,  some  one  produced  a  candle  which  was  to 
be  blown  out,  and  the  girls  took  turns  standing 
upon  a  chair  and  holding  it  up  at  arms  length,  while 
the  young  men  jumped  vigorously  up  and  down,  try- 
ing to  extinguish  it  with  frantic  puffs.  Dodge,  being 
not  very  tall,  exerted  himself  manfully  until  he  was 
fairly  covered  with  candle  wax,  but  he  blew  the  can- 
dle out  and  nearly  upset  the  chair,  young  lady  and 
all,  at  the  same  time. 

After  this,  they  experimented  with  a  bowl  of  flour 
and  a  ring,  and  Dodge  was,  of  course,  the  unlucky 
one  to  take  up  the  ring  with  his  teeth  from  the 
midst  of  the  suffocating  white  particles,  of  which  he 
inhaled  a  sufficient  quantity  to  almost  choke  him  to 
death. 

One  of  the  young  ladies  found  a  dish-cloth  to  dust 
him  off  with,  and  was  so  kind  about  helping  him  to 
dispose  of  the  superfluous  flour  that  he  was  led  to 
commit  the  folly  of  running  around  to  the  cellar 
door  on  the  sly,  when  she  started  down  the  stairs 
with  a  looking-glass  and  candle. 

Several  of  the  fellows  called  after  him  that  there 
were  three  steps  down  into  the  cellar,  but  he  did  not 
hear  them,  and  tumbled  down  all  three ;  the  sudden 
crash  frightened  the  young  lady  dreadfully,  and  she 
dropped  her  looking-glass  and  candle,  and  proceeded 


240  A    HALLOWE'EN  PARTY. 

to  fall  down  the  remainder  of  the  cellar  stairs,  turn- 
ing her  ankle,  so  that  Dodge  had  the  satisfaction  of 
carrying  her  up  the  whole  flight.  This  would  have 
been  quite  romantic  if  he  had  not  discovered  that 
she  was  engaged  to  one  of  the  other  men,  who  had 
intended  going  around  to  the  cellar  door  himself, 
until  Dodge  cut  in  ahead  of  him ;  moreover,  she 
was  very  angry  because  the  looking  -  glass  was 
broken,  and  said  that  she  should  now  have  noth- 
ing but  bad  luck  for  seven  years. 

By  this  time,  the  chestnuts  which  had  been  put 
on  the  top  of  the  stove  burned  up,  instead  of  pop- 
ping as  they  should  have  done,  and  it  was  discovered 
that  nobody  had  thought  to  cut  the  necessary  slits 
in  them.  This  filled  the  kitchen  with  black  smoke, 
which  set  everybody  coughing,  although  they  all 
declared  these  little  mishaps  were  half  the  fun. 
Dodge  wondered  when  the  other  half  was  going  to 
begin,  as  he  tried  to  remove  from  his  knees  the 
traces  of  his  encounter  with  the  cellar  steps,  with 
a  sooty  brush  which  he  found  hanging  near  the 
stove. 

Then  it  was  suggested  that  one  of  the  most  satis- 
factory things  to  do  was  to  fill  one's  mouth  with 
water  and  run  around  the  house ;  this  was  a  sure 
way  of  summoning  one's  fate  in  spiritual  form. 
Dodge  was  so  glad  to  fill  his  lungs  with  a  little  fresh 
air  after  breathing  in  an  atmosphere  of  chestnuts  in 
a  state  of  cremation  for  twenty  minutes,  that  he  vol- 


A    HALLOWE'EN  PARTY.  24! 

unteered  to  make  a  circuit  of  the  house  among  the 
first.  He  started  off  briskly  into  the  wet  grass,  re- 
gardless of  his  patent  leathers,  and  was  making 
remarkably  good  time  when  he  was  suddenly  stopped 
by  an  intervening  clothes-line,  which  caught  him 
under  the  chin  and  threw  him  heavily  to  the  ground. 
He  went  quietly  back  to  the  house,  thinking  that  if 
a  rope  around  his  neck  was  to  be  his  fate  it  was  not 
necessary  to  mention  the  lamentable  fact,  and  he 
had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  next  man  measure 
his  length  in  the  same  way.  Number  two,  however, 
had  not  the  sense  to  keep  quiet  about  it,  but  called 
out  loudly,  and  applied  several  uncomplimentary 
adjectives  to  the  clothes  -  line,  thereby  spoiling  any 
subsequent  fun  in  that  direction. 

Being  all  thoroughly  chilled  by  this  time,  they 
went  back  and  cracked  nuts  and  pared  apples,  and 
threw  the  peel  over  their  shoulders;  and  one  girl 
that  he  had  taken  a  special  dislike  to,  insisted  that 
her  peel  formed  a  perfect  I),  "did  anybody's  name 
that  she  knew  begin  with  a  I)?"  she  inquired.  No- 
body could  think  of  anybody  whose  name  began 
with  that  letter,  and  Dodge  tried  to  back  quietly 
into  the  china  closet,  but  just  then  somebody 
looked  at  him  and  giggled,  and  then  all  the  others 
took  in  the  situation  and  looked  away  from  him, 
so  as  not  to  make  him  feel  conscious,  and  began 
to  talk  about  something  else,  while  he  blushed 
and  tried  to  pretend  that  his  interest  in  cracking 


242  A    HALLOWE'EN  PARTV. 

nuts  had  prevented  his  hearing  the  previous  con- 
versation. 

Later  they  went  back  into  the  dining-room,  and 
had  lemonade  and  more  apples  and  nuts,  and  all  said 
how  much  nicer  this  simple,  informal  kind  of  thing 
was,  than  any  stereotyped  supper.  Dodge  was  al- 
most starved,  but  he  contented  himself  with  paring 
another  apple,  and  then  chopping  it  up  into  small 
pieces  and  distributing  it  over  his  plate.  The 
crowning  event  was  a  Hallowe'en  cake,  which  con- 
tained a  ring,  a  bodkin,  a  piece  of  money,  and  other 
appropriate  tokens. 

Dodge  got  the  thimble  in  his  slice,  and  nearly 
swallowed  it  by  mistake,  he  was  so  hungry ;  he  tried 
to  make  believe  that  he  thought  this  a  capital  joke, 
but  he  refrained  from  eating  any  more  of  the  cake, 
feeling  sure  that  he  had  already  unwittingly  swal- 
lowed the  button,  which  all  were  anxiously  searching 
for,  and  which  nobody  could  seem  to  find. 

A  silvery  stroke  from  an  adjacent  clock  warned 
him  that  it  was  time  to  depart,  and  he  rose,  thank- 
fully, to  say  good-night. 

"  I  shall  always  remember  my  first  Hallowe'en 
party,"  he  protested,  as  he  tore  himself  away  from 
the  festivities,  amid  regrets  that  he  must  hurry  off 
so  soon. 

The  silvery  -  toned  clock  turned  out  to  be  five 
minutes  slow,  but,  by  running  all  the  way  to  the 
station,  Dodge  managed  to  swing  himself  on  to  the 


A    HALLOWED  EN  PARTY.  243 

platform  of  the  rear  car  of  the  departing  train,  at 
the  risk  of  breaking  his  neck.  When  he  reached 
the  city,  he  wearily  entered  the  railroad  cafe',  and 
indulged  in  an  oyster  stew;  it  was  a  poor  one, 
and  the  oysters  therein  seemed  to  have  clung  per- 
sistently to  their  shells,  and  faithfully  retained  frag- 
ments thereof,  but  Dodge  meditated,  philosophically, 
that  he  might  as  well  swallow  oyster  shells  as 
buttons. 

As  he  was  hurrying  to  recitation  next  morning, 
he  met  Thornton  on  the  steps.  "  How  was  the 
party  ? "  he  called  out ;  "  anything  like  what  you 
have  in  New  York  ? " 

"  No,  thank  heaven,"  Dodge  responded,  "  we  may 
be  awfully  degraded  there,  but  we  have  n't  fallen 
quite  so  low  yet." 

These  were  the  recollections  that  rose  before  the 
mind's  eye  of  J.  Turner  Dodge,  as  he  gazed  at  tin- 
withered  geraniums  in  his  window-box. 

A  couple  of  days  later  Manhattan  dropped  in  to 
see  him,  remarking :  "  Oh,  I  say,  when  I  got  back 
to  my  room  the  other  day,  I  found  an  invitation 
from  Mrs.  Horton  for  Hallowe'en,  and  I  accepted, 
so  we  '11  have  to  have  our  theatre-party  some  other 
night.  I  knew  it  would  n't  make  any  difference  to 
you,  and,  moreover,  I  thought  you  might  be  going 
to  the  party  yourself." 

"  No,  I  declined  on  account  of  a  previous  engage- 
ment with  you." 


244  A    HALLOWE'EN  PARTY. 

"  Oh,  come  now,  Dodge,  I  know  better  than  that." 

"  Well,  then,  I  have  n't  been  educated  up  to  Hal- 
lowe'en parties.  There  are  some  tastes  that  can't 
be  acquired,  you  know;  you  must  be  born  with 
them,  like  the  love  of  Boston  baked  beans." 

"  Oh,  you  're  too  New  Yorky  for  anything ;  don't 
you  know  that  these  jolly  informal  things  are  twice 
as  much  fun  ? " 

"  Yes ;  but  I  'm  satisfied  with  half  as  much  fun ; 
you  can  have  my  other  half." 

"  I  believe  you  think  you  won't  get  anything  to 
eat." 

"  I  know  better  than  that ;  they  '11  have  apples 
pared,  and  drawn  and  quartered,  and  suspended, 
and  submerged,  and  named,  and  numbered,  and 
gnawed ;  and  chestnuts,  and  bodkins,  and  buttons, 
and  lots  of  lovely  things ;  but,  in  spite  of  all  that,  I 
prefer  to  be  excused  from  parlor  and  kitchen  gym- 
nastics, they  're  too  great  a  strain  upon  my  nervous 
system." 

"  All  right,  I  '11  mention  that  fact  to  them,  if  they 
inquire  about  you." 

"  Thank  you,  I  wish  you  would ;  and  if  they  pin 
you  down  more  particularly,"  Dodge  concluded, 
"  you  can  say  to  them  that  the  truth  was  I  'd  just 
got  in  my  new  football  rig,  and  I  could  n't  bear  to 
spoil  it." 

THE    END. 


